In which some lies are revealed but others buried still deeper.

Repetition does not transform a lie into a truth. – Franklin D. Roosevelt

It was a beautiful day on Privet Drive, and indeed in all of Little Whinging. This made it unsurprising to see a skinny fifteen-year-old kneeling in front of the flower beds at Number 4, weeding. What was unusual, however, was the ferocity with which said boy was tearing the invading plants up by their roots. Harry Potter was attempting to distract himself from the fact that he was utterly miserable.

He might have been miserable about how his “family” were treating him. He couldn’t really consider them family, whatever blood ties they might have shared, because their behavior in the past could certainly not be considered friendly, much less loving. Since his aunt, uncle, and cousin had been threatened at King’s Cross at the beginning of the holidays, however, they seemed to have taken it as a personal challenge to find more “subtle” ways to hurt him. Thus he was covered in bruises from where he had been “accidentally” kicked, tripped, and shoved into various hard and/or sharp-edged objects. He had especially appreciated being knocked head-over-heels down the stairs yesterday. To his great surprise (and his cousin Dudley’s displeasure), he seemed to have escaped without any broken bones, although he felt that he might have sprained his ankle. It certainly hurt to walk on it, though it was not so much pain that he couldn’t bear it.

But though he certainly didn’t want to spend his summer in pain, his relatives couldn’t truly be blamed as the cause of his misery. In fact, he really felt that this was his own fault, and that he deserved whatever the Dursleys could “accidentally” dish out. This explained why even though he had to update someone every three days as to his status, he had never mentioned the abuse. He was not so disillusioned as to think that anyone would believe the Dursley’s excuses, but a part of him felt himself unworthy of rescue.

On the other hand, he had also been unwilling to admit to the sudden, bizarre physical changes he had been experiencing. He didn’t think it was normal even for a wizard to grow six inches in under two weeks. His uncle Vernon seemed to take this sudden growth as a personal affront, not only because it was abnormal (“your freakishness will not be tolerated in this house!”) but also because Harry was now taller than him, though he still weighed considerably less. Other bizarre changes included a change in facial shape, which was now much more narrow with especially prominent cheekbones, and a sudden change in his hair length. It was hanging down past his shoulders now, despite the fact that it had stayed short without a haircut for at least five years up until now. The overall effect was striking, and he hadn’t considered the implications until yesterday. What he found was that he no longer looked anything like his (supposed) father, James Potter. Instead, he bore a strong and unmistakable resemblance to Professor Severus Snape, the potions master who hated him above any of his other students. There was a conclusion there that he didn’t even want to consider.

However, this too Harry found to be a distraction from his misery, rather than a cause. No, his misery most definitely stemmed from the death of his godfather at the end of the previous term. He had died, and Harry knew that it was his fault. He had experimented with blaming others, at first—Dumbledore, Kreacher, and Snape all made apparently good candidates for that. But in the final calculation, Harry knew that he was the one who could have prevented Sirius’ death, if he hadn’t been so abysmally stupid for nearly all of the previous school year.

He didn’t want to count how many times he had been through this in his head. He wished he could banish these memories from his mind. If he had been offered a pensieve to remove them, however, he knew that he would have refused, because he deserved to relive Sirius’ death every night. After all, it had been his fault. At least he no longer cried out in his sleep—a few beatings from his uncle and some not-so-benign teasing from Dudley had been enough to break him of that.

Not only did he have all of this weighing on him, but for the first time he found that he was not looking forward to Hogwarts, the boarding school he attended to learn the magical arts, nor even returning to the wizarding world in general. Having finally been informed of the prophecy made about him so many years ago, he now knew that all that awaited him in the world he had considered his own for the last five years were lies and death. He certainly couldn’t tell his friends of the fact that he would either kill Voldemort or be killed by him, and he knew now how much of a danger he was to those around him.

Having finished weeding, Harry dragged himself inside, trying to ignore his angry muscles and his screaming ankle. “Boy! You had better take a shower and make dinner quickly, Vernon will be home soon!” Aunt Petunia’s whiny voice warned him as he entered the house. He sighed.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” he responded wearily, then dragged himself up the stairs, relieved that Dudley was out at a friend’s home. It was hard enough to control his newly lanky body, without his cousin ready to sabotage Harry’s every effort. His cousin was not someone he considered creative and he felt certain that he would try at least once more to send Harry flailing down the stairs before the summer was over.

Later in the evening, Harry found himself back in Dudley’s second bedroom, the door locked from the outside as usual. His uncle had told him that this was to prevent him from “getting into mischief while we’re all sleeping” but he knew that it was to keep him from filching any food from the kitchen. His stomach wished he could, as they had been feeding him as little as usual, and this summer his body was growing. On the other hand, it meant he had some warning before anyone entered his room. This meant that he felt safe reading his DADA book by candlelight in the evenings. He wished he could practice the hexes he was reading about (particularly on Dudley!), but found that studying was better than nothing. It was certainly better than sleeping.

He glanced at his alarm clock and saw that it read 12:13. With a start of surprise he realized that it was his birthday. He was sixteen. He leaned over to look out the window, and noticed the suspicious absence of the usual peck of owls bearing an assortment of birthday gifts. He considered this. Harry had learned his lesson after the summer between his first and second years at Hogwarts and knew that his friends would not abandon him, and it seemed unlikely that Dobby was once again trying to “save his life”.

The alternative was that they wanted to give him his presents in person. If everyone had decided to do that (which seemed to be the case based on the fact that he had received none of his presents) then that probably meant that they believed they would be seeing him soon. Any other year he would be ecstatic, but this year, he wanted time to himself. He still hadn’t figured out exactly why he suddenly looked so different, and he wanted to work it out for himself rather than putting himself in a position to be lied to again, or refused an answer. Likewise, he wasn’t ready to start lying to his friends, and he knew that lying was indeed going to be necessary if he wanted to keep them unaware of the prophecy.

His entire train of thought was interrupted when he heard a door open downstairs. He froze and listened, and confirmed that he could hear the snoring of all three of the occupants of the house. So who was opening a door downstairs? He pulled his wand from his back pocket (where he continued to keep it despite a warning from Mad-Eye Moody that it was unsafe) and held it at the ready. Mentally he cursed the ministry, which made it necessary that he wait to give any deatheaters a shot a him so that he could confirm he was in danger before shooting off a well-placed Expelliarmus or Stupefy.

For several nerve-wracking moments Harry could hear nothing in the house but the snoring of his relatives. He took a step toward the door, thinking he might need to explore the house on his own, then remembered that his door was locked. Still, that meant he would have some warning (if only a brief “Alohamora”) before anyone entered his room.

Suddenly he heard a step creak. He knew that step; the second step from the top always made that sound. He had memorized it back when he lived in the cupboard under the stairs and that creaking noise had woken him each time anyone had gone up or down. He tensed and waited for the inevitable.

“Why is his door locked?” a familiar whisper asked from the other side of the door.

Was that… “Professor Lupin?” he called out hesitantly. In an instant a feeling of panic rushed over him. Remus Lupin, of all people, was not who he wanted to find out about his strange physical changes. After all, the man had been best friends with his (supposed) father; what would he think when he saw that Harry was no longer a carbon copy of James Potter, but in fact looked much more similar to one of their worst enemies from their school years?

“Harry? Just a moment… Alohamora!” responded the voice that Harry was now certain was that of his former professor. A moment later the weary man, who as usual looked many years older than he actually was, had stepped in and closed the door behind himself. Harry waited for the gasp of shock that he was sure to come, but it never did. “Harry? Is something wrong?”

“Wh—What are you doing here?” was his answer finally.

“I’m here to take you out of here. Dumbledore thinks you’ve spent long enough here, and I thought this might be a nice birthday present.” He glanced toward the door, then back at Harry. “I know you don’t like it here much.” Now he looked Harry up and down and Harry once again held his breath waiting for an exclamation of surprise. “Well, you’ve certainly grown since I saw you last. About time, isn’t it?”

Harry gaped at him for a moment, the conversational tone the werewolf was using completely and utterly unexpected. He raised his hand up to run it through his hair, a nervous gesture that he still hadn’t stopped even though the feeling wasn’t as satisfying now that he had long hair… but wait a moment, his hair felt short again! What was going on??

“Harry? Are you alright? You’re very quiet, I thought you would be excited.” He was giving Harry an appraising look.

“I’m fine,” Harry assured him quickly, despite the fact that he wasn’t all that certain that that was the case. “Am I—where are we going?”

Remus’ eyes fell on Harry’s trunk. “Looks like you’re already packed. Is there anything that isn’t in your trunk already?”

It wasn’t as though he had deliberately packed, more that he had been too apathetic to unpack. However, he had stashed his more important items—the photo album of his parents that he had been given from Hagrid, and his invisibility cloak—under the loose floorboard in case the Dursleys changed their minds and took his trunk. He wouldn’t put it past them to try to burn everything “magic” he owned, and though most things could be replaced, those mementos of his parents could not. He reached down and retrieved the two objects and placed them into his still open trunk. “Now it’s all packed. Now where are we going?”

“We’re going by portkey. Go ahead and take a seat on your trunk, and then we’ll go.”

Harry frowned. “Why aren’t you telling me where we’re going?” All of a sudden he realized how foolish he had been. How did he know that this was his former professor, and not someone impersonating him using polyjuice? He of all people knew how easily that could be done, and here he was completely ignoring the possibility! “Tell me something that only you know.”

Remus looked surprised, then his eyes showed his understanding. He sighed, thinking for a moment. “We used a boggart to practice your Patronus in third year because they become dementors for you.”

Harry nodded, satisfied. “Now, where are we going?”

“Harry, I shouldn’t tell you. Just sit down on your trunk and we can talk when we get there, alright?”

Harry frowned again. “I’m not going back to—to Order headquarters, unless it has been moved.” He stopped himself just short of saying Grimmauld Place, knowing that it was important to keep the secrecy in case they were still using it. The thought hurt him, knowing that his godfather was dead but that they might still be using his house. How could they stand to be in it? He certainly couldn’t.

“Harry…” The werewolf frowned. “Take a seat on your trunk. We need to get there, there are people waiting for us.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are trying to take me there, aren’t you?” he said incredulously. “Well, I’m not coming. I’ll just stay here, thanks.” With a scowl he crossed his arms across his chest and showing no sign of moving.

Remus sighed. “Please, Harry, you don’t want to stay here through the whole summer, do you?”

“I’m not going,” the boy reiterated.

A moment later, something was flying at his face. “Catch!” called the werewolf urgently, and catch whatever it was Harry did. Immediately he felt a familiar tug behind his navel and felt himself spinning away with a cry of frustration. How could Professor Lupin do this to him??

A moment later he landed in the middle of the living room at Grimmauld Place, a spark plug in his hand. He winced at the impact as he put his weight on his bad ankle, but quickly took it off. To his surprise, Tonks was standing directly in front of him, green hair and all. “Wotcher, Harry!” she greeted him happily.

He was not in the mood. “I took the portkey on accident, I don’t want to be here. I want to go back,” he told her immediately.

“Sorry, Harry, but Dumbledore wants you here.”

Suddenly he felt fury rising up inside of him. Once again, Dumbledore was interfering with his life. Who did he think he was to control people like this? He wasn’t staying here, no matter what anyone wanted.

He spun around to run for the front door, and came face to face with Alastor Moody himself. He turned his head far enough to the right to see that Kingsley Shacklebolt was standing there, and to the left was… Professor Snape.

Feeling trapped didn’t make him want to run any less. In fact, it only increased his need to get away from here. Deciding to go for the least expected route in an attempt at surprise, he ran at Moody and then quickly rolled just to his right, wincing at the pain this caused in the bruises that covered nearly his entire body. Coming to his feet past Moody and Shacklebolt, he broke into a sprint for the door—or tried. Instead, his bad ankle gave out abruptly and with a cry of pain he hit the floor for the second time that evening.

He felt three spells speed just over his head, smashing into the chair that he had been preparing to dodge around. He scrambled to his feet, but by this time Kingsley Shacklebolt had reached him and captured him in a bear hug that pinned his arms to his sides and left his feet barely touching the ground.

Crying out in pain, he struggled violently against the older wizard. When the man tightened his grasp, however, he stilled with a gasp, a tear leaking out of his eye despite his best effort. His ribs were screaming in agony. He looked down, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the wizards, whose feet he could see coming around to stand in front of him.

A moment later, he heard the sound of something heavy landing out in the hallway. A moment later, another pair of feet entered the room, wearing the same pair of shoes that Remus had been earlier. He didn’t say a word, and Harry guessed he was communicating silently with the others about what had happened. What he wanted to know was how they had known what his reaction was going to be so well that they had him surrounded when he had arrived.

He heard the voice of the auror holding him speaking in his ear, quietly. “I’m going to let you go now, Harry, but we’ve all got you covered with our wands and we’re not above using a full body bind if we think you’re going anywhere. Understand?”

Harry remained stubbornly still and silent. A moment later, he heard Lupin’s voice. “Harry…”

“I’m not speaking to you,” Harry informed him curtly.

There must have been more silent conversation because a moment later the auror had released him. Immediately he fell to the ground, hugging his rib cage gently and moaning slightly despite attempting to remain silent.

“Harry?” came Tonks’ voice. Harry didn’t he’d ever heard her so hesitant. “How did you get hurt?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” came Snape’s dry voice in reply. “He was probably doing something foolhardy, as usual ignoring everyone’s best efforts to keep him safe.”

This was just too much for him. “Well I wouldn’t want to make you give up your favorite verbal punching bag by being a good little boy,” Harry spat out in response. “I know I make such a good target, the famous hero of the wizarding world, spoiled at home, Dumbledore’s favorite at school, and the son of your worst enemy.” He looked up then, directly into Snape’s dark eyes, his own blazing with uncontained fury. “Would it burst your bubble to know that my injuries are from the family that “spoils” me, because Dumbledore is more worried about his own plans to use me to save the wizarding world than he is about whether I am actually safe with my magic-phobic relatives?” His potions professor’s eyes were unreadable, but he continued on without a thought. “Maybe you think it would have been better if they had succeeded in beating the magic out of me before I had ever gotten to Hogwarts? Then you wouldn’t have had to ever see my face, to hold a grudge against me for something stupid that James Potter did, who probably wasn’t even—“ Harry stopped, abruptly, realizing how much he had said and what he had been about to say. He had already given away far too much. He glared spitefully at Snape for another moment, then looked away, avoiding the eyes of every other occupant of the room.

The room was deathly silent for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, he heard Moody and Shacklebolt’s moving out of the room, and Snape swept away as well. A moment later Lupin knelt down in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell us, Harry? You sent word every three days, and you always said you were okay.”

He looked up and saw the disappointment and worry in the werewolf’s eyes. “I just said all that to make him feel guilty,” Harry responded in a dead voice, unable to even attempt to make it sound more believable. He couldn’t believe what he had let himself say. He had kept it all a secret for so long, only for it to get out now… and instead of finally getting one up on Snape, he had only handed him more ammunition. Now he knew that no one loved Harry, not even his few remaining blood relatives.

“I don’t doubt that you wanted to make him feel guilty, but I don’t think you meant to say that at all. Which makes me ask again—why didn’t you tell us?”

He stayed silent and stubbornly stared at a small blemish in the floor. He wished he could do this night all over again. He could have not caught the portkey, or maybe he could have managed to run even with his bad ankle… or he could have controlled his temper and his tongue and never told his least favorite professor all his deepest secrets. He was so angry at himself. He balled up his fists, mentally cursing himself.

Remus sighed. “Tonks, I think you should get Dumbledore,” he said softly to the young woman. Harry heard her footsteps walk away.

“No!” he found himself crying out, no matter how much he would have preferred to stay silent. He lowered his voice, but kept it loud enough for Tonks to hear. “He doesn’t need to come. I told you I lied.”

“Regardless of whether you lied or told the truth, Harry, I think it’s time Dumbledore paid us a visit.”

Harry shook his head violently but turned his eyes to the floor, and finally keeping his lips sealed shut. Why, oh why had he been so stupid?

Dumbledore appeared surprisingly quickly, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been doing up at this late hour. “Remus, Harry?” Dumbledore greeted with a question in his voice as he entered the room. Either Tonks hadn’t told him why he was needed, or he was playing innocent to get the information first-hand.

When it became obvious that Harry was not going to initiate the conversation, the werewolf did instead. “It seems Harry was hurt at some point this summer. In a… conversation… with Severus, he implicated that it had been the result of abuse by his relatives... and that this was not the first time.”

A moment’s silence was followed by Dumbledore’s serious voice. Harry was certain without looking that the headmaster’s eyes had lost their twinkle, as they were accustomed to do in only the most serious of situations. “Is this true, Harry?”

“I lied,” he insisted again, his voice dead. He forced a bit more life into it, even though he didn’t feel it inside. “I’m not hurt badly anyhow, I just fell. Sn—Professor Snape just made me so mad…”

“And why would it occur to you to suggest such a thing, Harry, even as a lie? This is a very serious thing to accuse.” Harry was tempted to look up, to examine the headmaster’s face, but he knew that he would see many things that he did not want to see… disappointment, worry, …perhaps even anger.

“He just doesn’t understand… he thinks the Dursleys, and everyone else, worship the ground I walk on… it makes me so mad!”

“That is still no excuse for lying.”

“I know, sir.” Maybe, just maybe, he was going to get out of this without—

“Now, I’m going to call Poppy to take a look at your injuries and fix you up, and then we are going to discuss your apology to Professor Snape and your punishment.”

“No!” In his surprise and panic his eyes moved, seemingly of their own accord, from the spot on the ground at which he had been staring all the way up to the headmaster’s face. What he saw caused him to freeze for a moment. The man looked so old, even older than he had looked just after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. His face was filled with sadness, disappointment, worry, and his eyes were completely devoid of their usual sparkle… Harry spoke painfully past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “I—I’m fine, you don’t need to wake her. It’s nothing, really, just a bruise…”

He met those eyes, those amazing eyes that usually held a sparkle and evidence of abundant life, and that were now so dead… Suddenly he found that he could not look away, and he knew that the headmaster was looking into him, was seeing straight through the lies that he was so desperately trying to tell. The older man was the one to break the eye contact finally, closing his eyes as if in pain. “No, Harry, I think it is much more than a bruise.” He opened his eyes and looked to Harry’s former professor, nodding to him presumably to ask him to go get the Hogwarts medi-witch himself. The weary younger man nodded once and walked away.

Harry buried his face in his hands, wishing he could just disappear. He heard Dumbledore’s footsteps walking away, and several people conversing in low tones. Then he heard a set of footsteps approaching again, and he was surprised to find that he could recognize them as those of Madam Pomfrey, the medi-witch from Hogwarts. He supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised, based on how much time he had spent laying in the hospital wing, unable to go anywhere for fear of the woman’s fierce temper (and for the secondary reason that he might reinjure himself).

“Now, Mr. Potter, what seems to be the problem?” he heard her ask him, and from the way her voice was coming from above him, he suspected she was still standing, looking down at his crumpled form and wondering where to start.

“I told them not to call you,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“I said, there’s no problem. I told them not to call you.” He honestly didn’t see what they thought was such a big deal. So he had a few bruises; hardly something to call the medi-witch in the middle of the night for.

“Then you won’t mind removing your shirt for me, will you, Mr. Potter?”

“I’d rather not,” he replied quickly. A little of the panic had returned, as he knew that the sight hidden beneath his shirt was not a pretty one. This was all going to become blown out of proportion very quickly, he knew.

“I’m afraid that I’m not very interested in your desires at the moment, Mr. Potter. Please remove your shirt or I will be forced to do it myself.”

Somehow Harry was not surprised that there existed a spell to remove someone’s clothing, and he had no doubt that Madam Pomfrey would have no problems doing just as she said. With a sigh, he gingerly removed the shirt, wincing at the pain that the necessary movements caused him. When he had removed it, he heard a gasp from the woman. “Albus, I think you’d better—“ she began to call out to the headmaster. In an instant, Harry had his shirt halfway back on. He was not going to let this get out of control, and he knew that that was exactly what would happen if Dumbledore or Professor Lupin saw what lay underneath his shirt.

“Oh no, none of that!” exclaimed Madam Pomfrey, and then, “Accio shirt!” In an instant Harry’s shirt was out of his hands and in hers, and another moment later he heard twin gasps from the doorway, indicating that the very people he had been trying to hide from had learned of his secret. Reluctantly he looked up and into their faces.

Sure enough, both men were looking horrified and saddened by what they could see. Harry found himself crossing his arms across his chest self-consciously. However, as his eyes continued to take in the scene at the doorway, he saw something completely unexpected. There, just behind the headmaster and his former professor was his potions master, his face carefully schooled into neutrality as he watched Harry. Their eyes met for a moment, and then Harry tore his away and directed them back toward the floor.

“Who did this to you, Mr. Potter?” asked the medi-witch, her voice professional but not devoid of the undertones of her emotions about the situation.

“I fell down the stairs.”

“You could have fallen down the stairs ten times and that wouldn’t have caused what I’m seeing. Now what really happened?”

“I fell down the stairs,” he repeated stubbornly. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Harry…” Remus’ voice had a warning tone to it, and he knew he had reached the end of his ability to deny the injuries. Still, he did not want to admit what had really happened.

“I don’t see why you care, anyway! So I have a few bruises, big deal!”

“This is more than a few bruises, Harry!” At some point, his former professor had moved closer again. Harry looked up at him, only to see him with his hand raised. Instinctively he jerked back, scuttling a few feet back without a thought. Only after he had reacted did he realized that the older man had likely just been about to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Remus looked hurt now.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he blurted quickly.

Remus managed a weak smile. “Come on, let’s get you into the other room. You can lie down and Poppy can see about healing your—bruises.” He stood to his feet and held out his hand for Harry to take it. Harry managed to get to his feet, but when he attempted to take a step on his bad ankle, it gave out from under him again. Fortunately Remus caught him, and a moment later he had picked him up entirely. “Harry! Have you had anything to eat this summer?” he asked immediately, looking at Harry’s slight form worriedly. “You hardly weigh anything!”

“Yes I’ve eaten,” he responded in an offended tone. Almost every day, he continued to himself.

In what seemed like only seconds, he was in one of the downstairs bedrooms that he had only seen in passing the summer before. Professor Lupin set him on the bed, and he instantly started to sit up, but was pushed down gently. “Just relax, Harry.”

A moment later, Madam Pomfrey pushed a goblet of potion into his hands. “Drink this.” Accustomed to her “assertive” nature when it came to healing, he drank it without asking what it was. He almost regretted it when he felt a strange fuzziness come over him.

“What was that?” he asked quietly, though for some reason he couldn’t really find it in himself to care too much.

“A calming draught, dear.” She busied herself for a moment with doing various medical scans, then gasped. “You have two broken ribs! When did your ribs start hurting?”

“I don’t know…” he replied wearily. “Uncle Vernon kicked me in the ribs while I was weeding, and Dudley shoved me down the stairs…” He considered for a moment. “Or maybe it was when he shoved me into the coffee table?”

“Oh dear…” was her response, along with a look over her shoulder. “Are you hearing this?”

Harry frowned. “That was no calming draught…” He had just realized that he hadn’t meant to tell them any of that. Receiving no response, he continued to talk absentmindedly. “It was all on accident…” He chuckled bitterly. “As if they thought anyone would believe that. Even Dudley isn’t that stupid…”

Dumbledore stepped up to the side of the bed, carefully staying out of the way of Poppy. “Why were they hurting you, Harry?”

Harry laughed dryly again. “They need a reason? They never have before!” He paused for a moment. “Uncle Vernon was mad that Moody had threatened him at the train station… and that I was growing… Maybe that was it?”

“Why would he hurt you for growing?” asked the medi-witch, pausing in the midst of her examination and healing with a perplexed expression on her face.

“He thought it was magic.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “He really doesn’t like magic. He thinks I’m a freak, he used to think if he punished me enough he could beat the magic out of me.” He gave a grin that would have been considered goofy if it weren’t for the fact that all the witnesses were horrified by the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Say, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you that…”

“It’s alright, dear, you just get rest. I think we know enough now.”

“Yes, Harry, just close your eyes and relax, you’re safe now,” added Professor Dumbledore. Harry smiled beatifically and did as he was told, his breathing evening out within moments.

In which moods become more changeable than the weather.

The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.

e e cummings (1894 - 1962)

Harry woke with a gasp, and started to sit up before realizing that there was a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, and then he registered that there was a quiet voice speaking to him. “That’s right, you’re okay… Just calm down.” He looked over and saw Remus, who smiled weakly as they made eye contact. “That was quite a nightmare.”

He sighed and nodded. He remembered bits and pieces—the graveyard, his wand locked with that of Voldemort… then Cedric and his parents appearing, along with Sirius… and all of them telling him that it was his fault. The dream had ended with a very real Vernon appearing in the middle of the graveyard to scream at him that he was a freak and beat him while those around him cheered him on. He was relieved to be awake.

“How are you feeling?”

Harry considered this. In truth, his body felt one hundred times better than it had the night before, but at the same time, his feelings from the night before were flooding back. Being tricked into coming back to Grimmauld Place… being interrogated after forgetting himself and admitting to the Dursleys’ part in his injuries… and finally being tricked into drinking something that had caused him to admit to everything. “Fine,” he finally answered shortly.

“Harry…” Professor Lupin didn’t seem to be finding the words he was searching for.

“Just—don’t. I don’t want to hear it.”

Remus continued searching for words that would properly plead his case. Finally, he conceded. “Ron and Hermione are coming today,” he informed Harry softly, clearly hopeful that this would improve the young wizard’s mood.

Harry sighed and looked away. This just got better and better. Everything that he hadn’t wanted to deal with just yet, and on his birthday no less! Of course, this would be the summer that Dumbledore went out of his way to get him out of the Dursleys in time for his birthday. He looked back to the werewolf. “Then can you leave me alone for a while?” The older man was clearly trying to hide his hurt at the brush-off, but not succeeding. It almost made Harry feel guilty…almost. Right up until he remembered how he had been tricked the night before.

“Alright. But don’t get out of bed on your own; Poppy wants you to rest so that you can be up later this evening.” Harry nodded when it became clear that the werewolf wasn’t leaving without some acknowledgement. Finally, he slipped out and closed the door behind him.

He immediately sat up, frowning. He experimentally ran his hand through his hair, and sure enough, it was still short. Then he looked carefully around the small room, and found what he was looking for—a mirror, over there on the wall. Gingerly he slipped his legs out from under the covers, and then gently put both his feet on the ground. There didn’t seem to be any pain in his bad ankle. He stood carefully, keeping a hold on one of the posts of the bed. Finally satisfied, he walked cautiously over to the mirror.

He gasped at what he saw. Nearly every one of the changes that he had been worried about appeared to have reversed themselves. His hair was short and uncontrollable, his face back to its normal shape that looked so much like James’… only his height had remained. He frowned.

“Come now, you’re quite a dashing young man, there’s no need to frown. All you need is to get that hair under control, and then…” The mirror fell silent mid-sentence, something Harry had never heard a magic mirror do before. His hair had suddenly begun to grow as he thought about it. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Tonks had said that metamorphmagi were born, not trained. But then why hadn’t he shown signs of this before now?

He closed his eyes and thought about what he had looked like the last time he had looked in a mirror. He felt a light tingling run over him, and when he opened his eyes he looked as he had at Number 4 Privet Drive. He grinned. Now this could be fun! He pictured Ron in his mind, and saw his hair grow rapidly shorter as it turned bright red, his face altering itself to match. He grinned for another moment, then another thought occurred to him.

Were all the strange physical changes just a result of him being a metamorphmagus, then? He focused for another minute until he returned to his James-like face, the one he had been accustomed to seeing staring back at him before this summer. He lost himself in thought until the mirror interrupted him. “Well, that was certainly unusual. If you can change your appearance, why don’t you change your hair so that it will lie flat?” Harry laughed out loud at that. Did all magical mirrors think alike? Had his father had to deal with this his entire life?

“Because someone would notice,” he responded sensibly, and then escaped the mirror to return to his bed. Once safely ensconced such that it appeared he had never left, he leaned back and stared at the ceiling. There was the mystery of the physical changes solved, without any lies from Dumbledore or anyone else. He must have looked like Snape because he was thinking about him and the Occlumency lessons. His smile became a smirk as he considered what he could do with such an ability, especially if he kept it a secret. He wondered how hard it would be to find a book on metamorphmagi without anyone catching on. He would just have to do research on several different topics so that no one would think anything of that topic in particular. Or perhaps simply some casual questions to Tonks…

He was absolutely amazed at what a difference this discovery made to his mood. He drifted off into a light sleep with a smile on his face.

It felt like he hadn’t slept at all before he was awoken by a squeal. “Harry! Happy birthday!” He was being attacked by a bushy haired projectile, and being smothered in a happy hug, before Hermione pulled herself away from him with an embarrassed grin.

Ron was right behind her. “Happy birthday, mate.” He looked around. “Say, what are you still doing in your bed, lazy bones?” Harry concluded from this that they didn’t know what had happened—and he had no interest in telling them.

Willfully ignoring his warning from Remus Lupin, Harry sprang out of bed. “Getting some sleep so that I could stay up late with you two!” he smiled, deliberately holding it even as he saw Remus appear at the door and frown at him out of bed. He caught the man’s eye and warned him silently not to interfere. “How are you?” His bright tone seemed to make a silent pact with them that, for now at least, they would not speak of the darker happenings in their world.

“The Chudley Cannons are actually winning!”

“I can’t believe they haven’t gotten us our O.W.L. results yet!” Ron and Hermione spoke at the same time, followed by groans as each realized what the opposite had said.

“Harry doesn’t want to talk about school!”

“Let’s not talk about quidditch!” The two spoke in unison once again, and Harry burst out laughing.

“Spending a lot of time together, then?” he asked with a grin.

It was perhaps fortunate that the two of them were too embarrassed to look at one another, as they both turned an identical shade of pink at his not so subtle teasing. He laughed. “Let’s go to the kitchen, I’m hungry!”

This finally brought Hermione out of her speechlessness. “And no wonder, you’re skin and bones!” At this, Harry turned such a dark look on her that she promptly changed the subject. “I noticed you’ve grown this summer… you’re almost as tall as Ron now!”

Harry smiled, though not so broadly anymore, as his exceptionally good (and exceptionally fake) mood had been broken. He looked at Ron and saw that she was indeed correct, as he made eye contact with Ron’s eyes at almost exactly the level of his. Ron grinned himself. “We’ll see how Malfoy likes having both of us towering over him!”

Malfoy… He thought of the elder, not the younger. And Bellatrix Lestrange. And Sirius… Tonks’ voice intruded on his melancholy thoughts. “Alright there, Harry?” He could see her at the end of the hallway, in the door to the kitchen.

His mood now completely ruined, he frowned. “I would be better if I weren’t here.”

“Harry!” protested Hermione.

“Isn’t this at least better than your aunt and uncle’s house?” asked Ron quickly. “I mean, we’re here, and…”

Harry was surprised how easily the fake smile sprang to his lips. “Yeah, seeing you guys is wonderful. As intelligent as Dudley is…” He laughed, and his friends hesitantly joined him. He sternly reminded himself that the smile needed to remain on his face, especially on his birthday of all days. He wanted to be able to act like a normal teenager with them, and he certainly didn’t want to endanger their friendship with his bad mood like he had done the year before.

Looking back to Tonks, he saw that she was watching him with a small frown on her face. He almost felt bad for snapping at her. Hermione gave him a pointed look, following it up with a glance at Tonks. He sighed. “Sorry, Tonks, I know it’s not your fault I’m here.”

Tonks shrugged. “None of us really wants to be here, Harry. But this is the still the safest place for Order headquarters, even more so now that no one will suspect it.” He nodded reluctantly, understanding the logic but wondering why he had to be at the headquarters.

“We’re both going to be staying here for the rest of the summer too, Harry,” added Hermione.

“Yeah, and Ginny and Mum and Dad, too. Speaking of Mum…” Harry followed his gaze to the doorway, behind Tonks.

“Mrs. Weasley!” he cried happily. She opened her arms to him and he rushed into them, ending any further conversation regarding their location. A moment later, she pulled him away from her and looked at him.

“Don’t those horrible muggles ever feed you anything??” she complained in a motherly tone. Harry felt his smile slipping and forced himself to think about the fact that she cared about him, not about the Dursleys. Or about why he had been there. She watched him as he did so and he felt like she could see right through him. Breezing past her, he continued the conversation.

“Is there anything to eat in this crazy house? I’m famished!”

“Harry Potter!” he heard the high-pitched voice squeal right before something small and fast-moving crashed into his legs. He stumbled to catch his balance, and looked down to find a familiar house-elf hugging his legs.

“Dobby! How are you?”

“Dobby is doing wonderfully, sir. Dobby was being told that Harry Potter was coming, and Dobby was volunteering to come and help Harry Potter and Harry Potter’s friends!”

“Well, thank you, Dobby!” Harry couldn’t believe how fake his voice sounded. He really had to work on doing a better job at pretending to be happy. He glanced back at the others, some of whom had entered the kitchen and others of whom were still in the hallway, and saw that they were exchanging glances. They had noticed, then. He sighed quietly and turned back to Dobby, keeping the smile on his face but speaking a bit less animatedly. “So, Dobby, do you have anything good to eat around here, or are you saving it all for dinner?”

“Oh no, Dobby is having lots of food for Harry Potter, sir!”

Harry grinned genuinely at this, his stomach growling at the mere thought of food, and even better, Hogwarts quality food. “Thanks, Dobby.” He turned around to see people still loitering around the door, as if he were dangerous or infectious. “Come on in, guys! Dobby’s getting us food, and I promise I won’t bite you… unless he takes too long!”

Though the mood was at first awkward and uncomfortable, slowly everyone loosened up and began talking and laughing. Harry mostly observed, a small smile on his face. He had believed it impossible, but the anger was slowly draining from him in the face of the happiness of all of these people who he loved. Finally, he released his grief and fury for the day, deciding that it might be okay to enjoy his birthday.

They played exploding snap for hours. Harry foolishly challenged Ron to a game of chess—and lost miserably. For which Hermione scolded the redhead and told him that he should have let Harry win, and he protested, “I tried!” Hermione then gaped at him for a moment before Ron turned and winked at Harry, and they both burst out laughing.

Before any of them knew it, it was time for dinner. He was relieved to find that Dumbledore had had the wisdom to not show up for dinner. Harry had a feeling he might come later, and he intended to demand a private conversation when he did. He sat himself in the middle of his fellow students, distancing himself from the adults. Having been betrayed by those few adults that he had known well and trusted, his faith was now severely shaken. But these “children” had traveled by his side into the Department of Mysteries to battle death eaters and (they thought) to save Sirius. Them, he could trust. At least, as much as he could trust anyone.

“Presents, or cake?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice broke into his reverie after dinner had ended. He blinked and refocused on the world around him, only to find that everyone was looking to him for an answer.

“What? Presents and cake aren’t mutually exclusive?” He preserved the innocently surprised expression for just a moment, before cracking up at everyone’s uncertainty and grinning. “Oh come on, I’m not that stupid! And I’m full now, so I call for presents!”

“Dobby is getting the presents right away, sir!” With one snap the table was cleared, and with another there was a rather large pile of presents on the table. Harry’s eyes widened, his reaction sincere this time.

“All these are for me? Where do I start?” Everyone laughed, and then he heard a quiet voice from the other side of Hermione speak.

“You can start with mine,” said Ginny, and he realized with a start that he had forgotten that she was even here. He wondered why she had been so quiet… had she returned to her younger, shy self? But as he watched her pluck a small box out of the pile and hand it to him, her movements seemed confident, and she met his eyes easily enough as she handed it off to him. He smiled and her and then looked down to the tiny box.

It didn’t weigh much, though he wouldn’t have expected it to based on the size. He carefully opened it and found a tiny but amazingly detailed phoenix figurine. It appeared to be clear crystal, except that he could swear that he saw glints of color flashing out of it that had no relation to the light in the room. He looked up at her, a question in his eyes, and she answered quickly, “I’ll tell you more later.” He smiled, looking forward to the chance to have a conversation with her, and thanked her quickly.

The rest of the gifts were as he had expected: books on Defense against the Dark Arts from Remus and Hermione (he thanked Remus dutifully but limited his eye contact with the werewolf), a Chudley Cannons calendar from Ron, which was of course so bright orange that it hurt Harry’s eyes, and some new clothes from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Oh, and he couldn’t forget the Gryffindor socks (which matched, except in size) that Dobby informed him had been knitted by the house-elf himself.

With a snap, Dobby cleared away all the leftover wrapping paper and boxes, and then a beautiful cake appeared on the table. Beautiful, except for the fact that it had Harry’s moving face on it. Everyone agreed that that was slightly creepy, but everyone eventually got into the spirit and began eating Harry’s brilliantly green eyes (which watched the fork carefully), his nose, and his ears. The mouth seemed to be a bit too much for anyone. Harry might have taken it, if he hadn’t been distracted.

At that moment Hogwarts’ headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had entered the room. “Happy birthday, Harry! And hello, everyone… It looks like you are all having a wonderful time!”

Harry felt his rage return with a vengeance, drowning his happiness in an instant and transforming his smile into a frown. “I was,” he muttered under his breath, but Hermione apparently heard him and shot him a sideways glance that was both surprised and reproving. He ignored her and looked across the room to make eye contact with the elderly headmaster, then said loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear, “I need to speak with you, sir.”

Dumbledore was unfazed by the anger in Harry’s expression and voice. “Certainly, Harry. Perhaps tomorrow morning?”

The younger wizard, however, was already making his way through the crowd to the door of the room nearest the headmaster. “No, I think now would be better,” he answered icily, adding as an afterthought, “Sir.” Hermione gasped.

“Harry! You can’t speak to the headmaster that way!” she protested.

Dumbledore’s calm expression remained, and he turned his attention to Hermione momentarily. “I’m afraid Harry has a valid reason for being upset with me, Miss Granger. I expected him to wish to speak with me, though I had rather expected that it would be tomorrow rather than on his birthday.” Dumbledore gave Harry a questioning glance, giving him an opportunity to postpone the discussion if he wanted to.

“What, and give you time to disappear for another couple of weeks?” he replied bitterly. His tone seemed to finally gain Dumbledore’s full attention.

“I think we had better take this conversation into the other room, Harry,” he commented slightly more quietly than Harry had spoken. For his part, Harry glanced around and found that he now had the incredulous stares of nearly the entire room on him, and allowed himself to be gently guided out of the room by his elbow.

“I owe you an apology, Harry,” the headmaster began once they had removed themselves to a more private room and closed the door. “I’m terribly sorry to have broken your trust last night by coercing you into speaking of what had happened. But I hope—“

Harry interrupted quickly, knowing that in a moment he would be too angry. “What was it?” he demanded.

“What?” Dumbledore appeared momentarily surprised that he had been interrupted.

“The potion,” he clarified shortly. “What was it?”

“Oh.” The older wizard sighed. “An invention of Professor Snape. The basic form is that of a Calming Draught, but it has the added effect of dramatically reducing one’s inhibitions. So in your case, you were rendered incapable of censoring yourself. You were more or less speaking whatever came to mind.”

“And was it worth it?” Harry asked coolly, just barely managing to keep his voice calm. “Was what you learned worth destroying my trust?”

“I understand that you are very upset, Harry. But I hope in time that you will be able to understand that we were only looking to serve your best interests.”

Harry laughed shortly. “And how exactly is it going to help me? Did you have some way of undoing what has been done? Or maybe you’re planning to convince the Dursleys that magic is really a wonderful gift?” He snorted at that. “You’ve already told me, even when I begged you to stay at Hogwarts, that I have no choice but to return to their house each summer, for my safety. Or have you changed your mind now?” He paused briefly, not long enough to allow Dumbledore to continue speaking. “But apparently my ‘best interests’ are now equivalent to satisfying your curiosity.”

“We don’t want you to deal with this on your own, Harry,” answered Dumbledore gently.

“Ha!” Harry couldn’t hold in a short, barking laugh at this. “And I’m supposed to ask you for help, after you’ve done such an effective job of showing me that I can’t trust you?” he asked incredulously. “No thank you!”

The headmaster leaned forward, clearly concerned. Harry felt a bit of anger welling up in him at the calm façade that continued to grace the man’s face. Could nothing he said shake this man, cause him to doubt himself for even one second? He noted, however, that he had managed to kill the oft-noted twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes. What talent. But the headmaster was speaking again. “Then who will you trust, Harry? You can’t do this on your own.”

“I can’t? That’s funny, it seems to me that that’s exactly what I’ve been doing for the past fifteen years!”

Harry thought he had caught the headmaster by surprise, for once, but he quickly realized that it was not for the reason he had expected. “Harry, has your uncle abused you before this summer?” His tone indicated that he had not even considered this a possibility before this moment.

He glared at the floor. He was torn between the desire to throw the headmaster’s mistakes in his face, and a warring desire to keep whatever secrets remained.

Long before he came to a decision, Dumbledore had already correctly interpreted his silence. Harry could see him becoming angry, though not at him. Their eyes met. “It appears I owe you a much larger apology than I had thought. My only excuse is that, though I knew there was no love lost between your mother and your aunt, I felt sure that Petunia would not dare actively mistreat her own nephew.”

Harry replied softly in response to a strange desire to protect his aunt from the wrath of this suddenly dangerous man. “She didn’t know.”

“What?” the headmaster asked incredulously.

“I said, she didn’t know.” He frowned at the headmaster’s disbelieving stare. “It wasn’t so hard. All they had to do was avoid anything suspicious in front of her, and blame any bruises that happened to be obvious on my inherent clumsiness. Not that she was looking for bruises… she never pretended to care about me.”

“They?”

Harry cursed himself mentally. Of course, the headmaster wouldn’t miss something as obvious as that. When had he stopped choosing his words carefully? “He. I meant he.”

“Harry…”

“No.” He looked up, the fury flashing in his eyes. “No. I’m not going to tell you. What are you going to do? Feed me another mind-altering potion? Or maybe this time you could be a bit more creative and break into my mind using Legilimency!”

The mild victory that he felt when he finally saw the defeated look in the headmaster’s eyes was accompanied by a twinge of conscience. He violently shoved it down, trying to savor his victory, but found it difficult. He sighed and turned his eyes back toward the floor.

“I assume Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger know nothing of all of this?” Dumbledore continued finally.

“No.” He barely restrained himself from adding a nasty barb about giving the headmaster opportunities to turn his friends into spies against him.

“And who are you going to speak to about this?”

“No one,” he replied, looking into the older wizard’s face to glare defiantly.

“I must insist that you speak to an adult about this, Harry. You need not tell me whom, and you may swear them to secrecy if you so desire, but you can’t keep this inside of you.”

“Oh yes I can!” exclaimed Harry in defiance.

Dumbledore shook his head slowly. “No, Harry. I understand that you may not see the need for this at the moment, but I must insist. We will remain in this room until either we have spoken about this or you have promised to speak with another adult.”

Harry leaped to his feet. “You can’t keep me in here forever!” He ran to the door, but heard the headmaster muttering something and saw a burst of light pass him and melt into the door. He presumed it was some kind of locking spell, but tried the door anyway. To his surprise, he felt a small tingle and then the doorknob turned without complaint. He had just begun to open the door when it slammed back shut. He spun around to see a look of surprise in Dumbledore’s eyes.

“What did you do?”

“I tried to walk out the door. Now let me out!” Harry was aware that he was acting mildly childish, but he hated to be trapped.

“No, Harry,” Dumbledore responded mildly. “This is not up for discussion. You are going to promise to talk to an adult before you leave this room.” He seemed to have recovered from his surprise of earlier.

Harry began pacing back and forth in front of the door, but the nervous energy seemed to be building up inside of him faster than he could work it off. Finally he spun on Dumbledore. “There’s no one I can possibly talk about this with—you can’t just keep me trapped in here waiting for me to make a promise I can’t keep!”

“I take it then that you are not willing to talk about this with Remus?” Harry narrowed his eyes and shook his head. His talk with the werewolf was still to come, though after the way the tables had been turned with the headmaster he might be a bit more reluctant to initiate that one. “What about Mr. or Mrs. Weasley?”

Harry was horrified. “I can’t talk with Ron’s parents about this!”

The headmaster chuckled. “I assure you, Harry, they think of you as one of their own. They both care very much about you and I’m sure that either of them would be very pleased if you were willing to trust them with this secret—not to mention supportive.”

Harry shook his head violently. “No. No. I don’t want them to know.”

Dumbledore frowned at this. “The only other adults who are present with any frequency in this house are Nymphadora Tonks and Severus… While you may certainly speak with the former, she may be a bit young to give you the support and understanding you need. And I believe that last year’s disaster with Occlumency does not recommend Severus for the job.” He gave a wry smile at this.

Harry paced back and front a few more times, and then looked back to the headmaster. “You can’t make me talk with someone if I don’t want to!” he insisted.

“That is why I am giving you the choice of whom you speak with. Come, Harry, stop stalling. Everyone is waiting for you.”

Harry’s eyes widened. He had utterly forgotten about the party that he had left. “You’re making me miss my birthday party!” He spun and tried the door again, but it didn’t budge. He pounded on it a few times, and then realized that the headmaster had probably included a silencing spell and turned back around. “You—you—“

“I am doing nothing of the sort, Harry. All I’m asking of you is a simple promise, and then you may rejoin your party.” This was said with a small smile, but then his expression turned serious. “Come, Harry, I know you can do this. Just promise me that within the week you will approach one of the people we have discussed and talk to them about this.”

Harry leaned back heavily against the door and then slid to the ground, wrapping his arms around his knees and staring at the ground. Could he…? He wasn’t sure he had it in him to talk to anyone about this, much less a member of the Order of the Phoenix. How weak would they think him, to let himself be beat up by a couple of muggles? But then, he had no other choice…

“Fine,” he whispered finally, hanging his head in defeat. He raised his voice just above a whisper so that Dumbledore could hear him. “Fine, you win. I’ll talk to someone.”

He could just feel the pleasure radiating off of the headmaster. “Good! It will help, Harry, I promise.”

“Right.” Harry rolled his eyes. Did he look like he was doing so badly on his own? “Can we get out of here, already?” he grumbled, not willing to discuss this any longer.

“Certainly!” Dumbledore uttered several spell words under his breath and Harry felt a little tingle go through the door. That was odd… it felt exactly the same as what he had felt when he touched the doorknob. He stood up and opened the door without looking back at the headmaster, but if he had he would have caught the older wizard watching him thoughtfully.

“Finally!” exclaimed Ron when Harry re-entered the kitchen. “We thought you were never going to be done! What were you talking about all that time, anyway?”

Harry sighed, and then a small smile crossed his face when he saw Hermione elbowing his red-headed friend. He shrugged. “Not as much as you might think. If he had just let me out of there I would have been back half an hour ago.” He said this knowing that however those present in the room interpreted it, they would not assume that Dumbledore had truly locked him in the room. He changed the subject quickly. “So, is there any cake left?”

Ginny grinned at him, and he knew enough to be a bit worried when he saw that mischievous expression on her face. “Only half of your mouth, because no one could stomach it.” Harry laughed.

“Well, is it cake, or isn’t it?”

In which the Boy-Who-Lived faces questions from every side.

I watch you smile

You steal the show

You take a bow

The curtain falls in front of you

You're magical, on display

I gaze into your eyes and

You turn to look the other way

But I'd really love to know

I'd really love to climb

My way into your heart

And see what I could find

Disappear, Jars of Clay

They talked, laughed, and entertained themselves for several more hours before Harry escaped to his room, pleading exhaustion. He really was exhausted, and suspected one of the adults had spiked his last cup of hot chocolate with a sleeping potion. Still, he wasn’t bothered; ever since he had come back from speaking with Dumbledore, he could sense that his friends were itching to get him alone and interrogate him. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but for now he would be able to sleep.

He woke from a nightmare before the sun rose, and knew from long experience that he would not be sleeping again. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair—and froze. His hair was long again. He hurried over to the mirror to see a strange sight. His hair was long, hanging past his shoulders, but his face was still what he was beginning to mentally call his “James Potter face.” He quickly shortened it so that his features “matched.”

Having corrected his appearance, he wandered down into the kitchen. He was surprised to find that it already had an occupant. “What are you doing up, Tonks?”

Tonks looked up from her coffee, which she had been staring into blankly. “Have to go to work in a little while. What about you?”

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” For several minutes, they sat in half-conscious silence. Finally, Harry decided to satisfy his curiosity. “When you wake up, is your hair the same brilliant shade of green as when you went to sleep, or does it revert to normal? What is normal, anyway?”

Tonks looked briefly surprised. Then she shrugged. “Sometimes it stays the same, sometimes it changes. Usually if it changes, it’s back to normal, but not always.” She paused to consider. “I’m not quite sure what triggers it, to be honest. And as for what’s normal… that’s a state secret!” She smiled at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. I was thinking about metamorphmagi, and started wondering… and then I figured, since I had you at my mercy…”

“Any other tough questions for the resident metamorphmagus?” Tonks asked with a playful grin. For a heart-rending moment Harry felt as though he were having a conversation with Sirius, rather than his cousin.

He pushed that painful thought away, and focused on his words. “Actually, I did have one other question… Well, sort of more than one… I was just wondering, how do you change? I guess I always imagined that you had to picture what you wanted to look like, but then I started wondering, do you have to do that to revert to your natural form?” He paused, and then added a little tease. “I mean, with the way you change your hair so often, aren’t you ever worried that you might forget what your natural hair color is?”

Tonks laughed at loud at this. “How kind of you to be so concerned, Harry!” She shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, exactly… Usually I do have to picture what I want to look like, but if when I’m changing I just focus on who I am, rather than what I look like, I go back to my natural state. Not that I’m going to tell you anything about what that is; it’s classified!” She laughed again, shaking her head. “Where you come up with this stuff, I have no idea.”

Harry shrugged, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just curious, like I said. I haven’t exactly seen a lot of books on metamorphmagi, and even if I had, it’s much more interesting to talk to you about it.”

Soon after this conversation, Tonks abandoned the remains of her now cold coffee to step outside and apparate to the ministry. At this point, Harry vacated the kitchen in favor of the library. This was a strategic decision—he hoped that no one would guess (at least for a while) that he was there, and would assume instead that he was still asleep. Secondarily, he wanted to know what exactly was in the Black library.

When Ginny wandered in nearly three hours later, she found him surrounded by books. “You’re awake!” He nearly jumped at her unexpected voice. He looked up and nodded. “We’ve been waiting in the kitchen; we thought you were still asleep!”

Harry had to work to keep the smile off his face. He decided it was advisable not to comment on how long he had been awake. He shrugged. “I wasn’t hungry, so I decided to see if there was anything interesting in here.”

“And is there?” she asked distractedly while reading the cover of a book that she had selected at random.

“Once you weed out all the Dark Arts books, there are…” He began pointing to various piles. “Healing potions, antidotes, defensive transfiguration, charms, magical medicine… I’ve been avoiding the books on hexes and such, as I want to keep my dinner, but I think what I’ve found is interesting…”

Ron was not going to be happy with Harry’s newfound interest in learning. Still, if a possible job was a good motivation to work hard, knowing that you were going to have to face the most powerful dark wizard in the world (and try to win) was a phenomenal motivation. Of course, from Ron’s point of view nothing had changed—and Harry wanted to keep it that way. He would have to come up with some other excuse instead.

“Let’s go down to the kitchen, Ron and Hermione are waiting for you,” said Ginny, finally having tired of looking at books.

Harry gave her a mock-horrified look. “You left them alone together? They could be dead by now!”

Ginny laughed. “They are awfully bad, aren’t they? Still, I figure that since Ron is not very coherent in the morning, we’re probably safe.”

Harry shook his head, fighting to keep the smile off his face and look serious. “You had better be right…”

Ginny grabbed at his arm. “Come on, Harry, let’s go! We’ve got to save them!”

Harry held back, turning serious. “Gin? Why don’t you go get them and bring them up here? I have a feeling that the things you all want to ask me about are probably not things I want to discuss in the kitchen.”

Ginny looked surprised, as this was the first time since they had been at Grimmauld Place that he had truly been serious around anyone of them. Finally, she nodded. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” Then she pinned him for a moment with a stare that would have made her mother proud. “Don’t you go disappearing again!”

Harry tried to look surprised and offended. “Would I do that?”

“I don’t know, Harry James Potter,” she retorted, “would you?”

He looked down and in a sufficiently humbled voice replied, “No, I won’t.” He didn’t mean to hurt his friends by running off, he really didn’t, it was just that sometimes he just didn’t think he could face them. But how could they understand that? They had not had to grow up in an instant, trying to save themselves from a powerful dark lord who wanted nothing more than to murder them. And though he envied them in that, he would never wish any aspect of his life on them, and didn’t want his pain and premature maturity to infect their happy, innocent lives.

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice had quieted, and her tentative tone brought his eyes up to meet hers in an instant. “Don’t hide from us. We want to understand, and to help.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. How could she see through him like that?

“But I don’t want you to understand!” He could see the hurt that filled her eyes at this, and he continued quickly. “I’ve had to face so much, and it hurts. I didn’t want to understand, but I had to. You don’t have to, and I want to save you from that.”

The change that came over Ginny was both subtle and dramatic. Her chin lifted and her eyes hardened ever so slightly, but she fairly exuded strength at that moment. “I think you are under the mistaken impression that I—that we—are not involved. But we have already chosen, and we are involved. We chose to follow you into the Department of Mysteries, and in doing so, we committed ourselves to this fight. You cannot, and will not, protect us; we are responsible for ourselves and we have become involved of our own free will, because we care about you. Now, I’m going to go get Ron and Hermione, and you are going to talk to us.” With that, Ginny spun on her heels and stormed out of the library. Harry couldn’t have been more stunned if the nearest bookshelf had spontaneously transfigured itself into Fluffy and begun to serenade him. He still hadn’t completely recovered when Ron and Hermione followed Ginny into the library a few minutes later.

“Morning,” they all greeted one another. Harry sighed. Silence fell.

“How did you sleep, Harry?” asked Hermione in an effort to break the silence.

Harry shrugged. “Fine.”

Now it was Ron’s turn. “What’s with all the books?”

“I was just trying to see what was in here,” he mumbled, actually embarrassed at his intellectual pursuit in the face of his friend who spurned such things except in the case of necessity.

“Oh.” Ron clearly didn’t understand, but Harry was surprised to not hear any hurt comments from him about how he had abandoned him for Hermione. Ginny picked up one of the books she hadn’t yet examined, trying to ignore the deafening silence in the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stared at various points on the floor in order to avoid eye contact.

Finally, Hermione jumped to the point. “What did you and Dumbledore speak about last night?”

Harry sighed again, finally allowing himself to be dragged out of his silent contemplation. Ginny was right, they deserved to know at least some of what was going on. He remembered how furious he had been throughout the whole last year when no one had told him anything, and the last thing he wanted was for these three to be angry with him. “I think that what you really want to know is what Dumbledore and I talked about after the Department of Mysteries last year.”

Ron nodded quickly, leaning forward in curiosity. Ginny smiled encouragingly, setting the book aside to give him her full attention. But Hermione… “Are you sure you’re ready…?”

“Don’t give me excuses,” he hurriedly warned her. He sighed again. “I’m not ready, but you should know. You deserve to know, after coming with me to try to rescue Sirius.” He tried desperately to keep his tone neutral, but knew that none of the three had missed the distinct wobble in his voice as he had finished the sentence.

“The recording of the prophecy was destroyed.” All three nodded. “But it still exists in one place: the memory of the person to whom it was given.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding. “It was Dumbledore, wasn’t it?”

Harry nodded wearily. “It, well… The long and short of it is that… is that…” He didn’t seem to be capable of wrapping his mouth around the words that he knew he needed to say. He could see Ron fidget, and momentarily admired his usually impulsive friend’s newfound restraint. He wondered what Hermione had had to say to him to keep him quiet for this long. But he was avoiding the point. “It says that… that I’m the only one that can defeat Voldemort.” He blurted this last out, then closed his eyes in relief at having gotten the words out of his mouth. This had the added benefit of hiding his friend’s reactions from him, though he didn’t miss the three identical gasps.

“Well that’s just wonderful…” Ron muttered finally. Harry felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. That was the tone that Ron always used right before he was about to abandon Harry as a friend for some perceived slight. He held his breath and refused to open his eyes. “At least you won’t be alone, not so long as we can help it.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open and locked on Ron’s. His relief at the sincere concern and support that he saw there was almost overwhelming. “I—I—You’re crazy, do you know that?” He gave Ron a lopsided smile. “You’re supposed to look for excuses to get away from Voldemort, not go after him!”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Right. Just like you do. Would I be your friend if I were any more sane than you?” Then they grinned at one another. Finally, Harry tore his eyes away to assess the reactions of the girls. Ginny had a hard set to her eyes, but as soon as Harry turned toward her she offered him a weak smile. Hermione, on the other hand, had a soft smile on her face that seemed to be for Ron, but behind that Harry could see that she was already working through the information she had been given in her own highly intellectual manner.

And it was Hermione that had the first question. “How do they know that it’s you?”

Harry nodded, acknowledging that this was a logical question. “Well, it said that the person would be born at the end of July, and to parents that had defied Voldemort three times… But, more than that, it said that Voldemort would ‘mark him as his equal.’” He raised his hand to rub his scar. “He didn’t know that part of it. Just the part about when the person would be born and about his parents. He had no idea that by attempting to kill me he was actually fulfilling the prophecy.”

“So you’re mad at Dumbledore for not telling you before now?” Ginny clarified.

Harry hesitated a split second before nodding Here was his excuse—he wouldn’t have to talk about the Dursleys, or about why he hadn’t wanted to come to Grimmauld Place.

“So what did you talk about last night?” the petite redhead continued.

“I yelled at him,” he heard Hermione gasp, “and he forced me to promise to talk about it with someone—an adult.”

“So you’re going to talk about it with Remus?” Ron asked.

“No, I was thinking I was going to talk about it with Snape,” he retorted sarcastically. He looked up to see Ron’s hurt expression, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m just mad that he made me promise to talk to someone—if I don’t want to talk to anyone that should be my prerogative!”

Hermione shook her head. “No, Harry, he’s right. You need to talk about this with someone. It’s eating you from the inside out… don’t you want to move past the anger?”

Harry slammed his fist down on the table next to him. “Of course I do! But Merlin, I’m sick and tired of being minded all the time, as though I were a little child!”

“No one is trying to treat you like a child, Harry,” Ron responded tentatively, after a moment’s silence followed this exclamation.

“Right,” Harry responded bitterly, though he had calmed enough to keep his voice down. “I’m sure Dumbledore locks adults in rooms all the time to make them promise to talk to someone.”

“He locked you in the room?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“Yes. Why else did you think we were gone so long? It’s not as though he would actually be willing to talk to me for that long.”

“Goodness! If you want people to start treating you like an adult, Harry, maybe you should start acting like one!” Hermione burst out finally. The room fell silent at this proclamation, until Hermione herself continued, “You know he tells you far more than he tells any other student. We never know half as much as you about what’s going on, except if you tell us.”

For a moment Harry felt anger swelling up in him at this insult, but just as quickly it deflated. She was right. He buried his face in his hands. “Merlin, I’m sorry, guys. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let myself blow up at you this year.”

“That’s why you need to talk to someone, Harry. You can’t just bottle up your anger and expect that it will go away.” Trust Hermione to have all the answers. And darn it, she was right.

“Okay, fine, I get the point,” he muttered finally.

Ron took his turn to break the silence that followed, and change the subject. “So, tell me again why half the books are on the floor instead of on their shelves?”

“I figured it would be a good idea to look to see what was in here that might be useful. I don’t know what may or may not be in the Hogwarts Library, and I need to learn everything I can.” He could see out of the corner of his eye that Hermione was nodding in satisfaction, but he was focused on Ron. His best friend looked slightly disappointed but seemed to understand.

What Ron said next made it clear to Harry more than anything else that he really had matured since they had entered the Department of Mysteries. “Well, can we help?” Since when was Ron the first one to volunteer to help do research? Not that he wouldn’t tag along if Hermione and Harry were working on something, but he would usually drag his heels and whinge the entire time.

“Thanks.” He grinned at Ron, knowing his friend would understand what was meant without any more words. “If you could just pick one of the stacks that I have lying around. I’ve been grabbing books that looked interesting.” Once again he listed off each of the piles for the benefit of the two who hadn’t been here previously.

Ron took the stack of charms books, Ginny examined the defensive transfiguration texts, Hermione immediately dived into the pile of antidotes, and Harry began studying magical medicine. All of them were so caught up in their research that none of them saw Mrs. Weasley when she came to the door of the library several hours. She stood for several moments with a smile twitching at her lips, before finally speaking.

“Are these really my children, so distracted by their studying in the middle of the holidays that they forget lunch?”

Ron, Ginny, and Hermione all jumped at her voice. Harry simply looked up, a slightly confused expression crossing his face. He hadn’t consciously known she was there; still, he hadn’t been the least bit surprised when her voice had broken the silence.

“Mum! Don’t scare us like that!”

“Well, do you want lunch or not?”

Ron was the first one on his feet. “Lunch! I’m starving!”

Hermione laughed. “When aren’t you starving, Ron?”

Ron frowned, then his face lit with a triumphant expression. “Well, you must admit that efficient studying requires the proper nourishment…”

Ginny looked back and forth between the two, Ron who was still smiling from his “victory” and Hermione who was looking inordinately proud of Ron at the moment. “Okay, that’s it, who are you and what have you done with Ron?”

“Hey, can I help it if being a prefect has taught me responsibility?” His expression was neutral but his voice gave away his teasing intentions.

“You don’t have a responsible bone in your body, Ron Weasley!” replied Hermione. Then she reconsidered. “Well, maybe one. You certainly are more responsible than Fred and George.”

“And a good thing, too,” added Mrs. Weasley, a smile having grown on her lips as she listened to the teens tease one another. “I couldn’t take another twin!”

“So did you say something about food, Mrs. Weasley?” Harry joined the conversation finally.

“Oh, yes! Dobby and I have been hard at work whipping up lunch for you four, but it will get cold if you don’t get down there, and quickly!” With that, all four dropped their respective books and stampeded toward the kitchen, nearly bowling Mrs. Weasley over in the process.

They continued their research for several hours after lunch before Ron called a halt. “It is summer, after all!” he exclaimed.

Harry was relieved that his friend had interrupted them. He realized that he was retaining less than half of what he was reading, and it was becoming harder and harder to even focus on the page in front of him.

The rest of the evening was dedicated to entertaining themselves. This would have meant more reading for Hermione, if the boys had not dragged her “light” reading from her hands and hidden it. They had to promise her that she would get it back first thing the next day before she would think of doing anything else.

Once again, Harry pleaded exhaustion and went to bed early. Though he had enjoyed doing something other than studying, the effort of pretending to be happy and hiding his fears and worries was quickly overcoming him. And that was without mentioning the fact that he had gotten little sleep the night before, despite whatever sleeping draught he might have been given.

None of his three friends protested his early departure, so he was surprised when he sensed a presence behind him on the stairs. He turned around, only to find Ginny behind him. “What’s up, Gin?”

“Can we go to your room? I wanted to tell you about your birthday present.”

“Oh!” He had forgotten about the beautiful phoenix figurine that she had given him, along with her promise to explain more about it later. “Of course, come on,” he responded, continuing up the stairs.

Once they were both seated on his bed facing one another, Harry waited for Ginny to start. She reached past him and grasped the figurine, which Harry had set on the table beside his bed. She fidgeted with it in her hands for a moment before starting to speak. “Have you ever heard of a dream sieve?”

Harry looked up from the figurine, which he had been watching her fiddle with, and met her eyes, which had also risen. “No…” His mind was already whirling through the possibilities. But this figurine looked nothing like a Pensieve, even remotely.

Ginny laughed at herself. “No, of course you haven’t. Neither had I.” At Harry’s confused expression, she continued. “My parents actually gave me this, after my first year. They had to explain it to me then.” She paused, turning her focus back to the figurine itself. “A dream sieve is somewhat like a Pensieve, in the sense that you can store memories in it. But that’s the only similarity. It does not actually remove the memory from your mind, but rather stores a copy of the memory. That copy is used to serve its main function.” Harry thought that Ginny sounded a bit like she was quoting a textbook—or maybe Dumbledore. “Whatever memories you store within a dream sieve, it will prevent your sleeping mind from having a dream that incorporates any event from those memories, no matter how distorted.”

“I… wow. Are you sure that you want to give this to me, Ginny? I can always take dreamless sleep potion if I need a good night’s rest…”

Ginny leaned forward, her face deadly serious. “Harry, has anyone ever explained to you why you can’t take the dreamless sleep potion all the time?”

“Well… no.” This had never even occurred to Harry before, but now it struck him as terribly odd that no one had explained it to him before. “Do you know?”

“Yes, my parents explained this to me as well. You see, dreaming is part of the way that our mind incorporates what we have experienced during a day into our knowledge and solidifies the memories. Even muggles have found that when people are deprived of sleep, their ability to remember things that have happened to them over the previous day is greatly decreased. If you continue to take a potion to keep your mind from dreaming, your ability to remember will be deteriorates. If the use continues long enough, the effects can be permanent!”

“But… what about you? You’re not still having nightmares from what has happened to you?” He didn’t want to mention the Chamber of Secrets or Tom Riddle’s diary by name, if he could help it.

Ginny shook her head. “No… I have slowly been removing my memories from the dream sieve, and the dreams haven’t returned because I’ve had time to deal with what has happened. A dream sieve is not a permanent solution; it’s a chance for you to get some distance from traumatic events so that you can cope without reliving them night after night.” Harry opened his mouth to protest that it wasn’t that bad, but Ginny seemed to read his mind. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t have nightmares, either. Ron has told me that he’s heard you when we’re at school, and I’m sure it’s only worse now.”

Harry was relieved that Ginny did him the courtesy of avoiding mention of his own traumatic events. He had been steadily trying to forget about what had happened at the end of the previous school year. Not that he really had any chance in the middle of Sirius’ house, but he had to try for his own sanity.

He realized that Ginny was watching him closely and obviously waiting for a response. “I… I don’t know what to say, Gin. Except… thanks. I think this is the best gift anyone has ever given to me.”

Ginny beamed at the high compliment. “You’re very welcome. I just… I know how you must be feeling, even more than I think Ron and Hermione do, sometimes.” Harry nodded in understanding. “And I felt like I still owed you a big thank you gift for what you did in my first year.”

Harry shook his head. “Ginny, you don’t owe me anything for that. To be completely honest, it had nothing to do with you. It seemed like what I had to do.” He held up a hand to silence her when she looked ready to protest, and quickly continued to keep her from being hurt. “I didn’t know you then, Ginny. Now that I do, I’m even more happy that you didn’t die. And you’ve more than repaid me by coming with me to the Department of Mysteries.” He tried his best to smile at her, despite the sharp pain he seemed to be feeling somewhere deep inside of him after even mentioning the horrible debacle that had gotten his godfather killed. “Now, I hate to kick you out, but I really am tired, and I want to try out this dream sieve now that I know what it does!”

Ginny nodded quickly and stood to her feet, handing the figurine to Harry. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had upset her, but he didn’t know how to fix it now. “Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight Ginny, and thanks again,” he responded in kind, and then watched quietly as she closed the door softly. Then he turned the phoenix over in his hands a few times before beginning to focus on his most horrific memories one by one, starting with his parent’s deaths.

Harry woke early the next morning, but he was surprised to find that he felt incredibly well-rested. The dream sieve had worked perfectly, and he hadn’t had a single nightmare, nor had he awakened at any point throughout the night. Apparently, though, his body was used to getting little sleep, because he was far too awake to sleep anymore. Slipping out of bed, he plodded into the kitchen, yawning as he entered. He was surprised to find Mrs. Weasley awake and cooking, while he was less than surprised to note that Tonks was once again staring blearily into her early morning coffee.

Mrs. Weasley heard him enter and turned, obviously surprised to see him awake. “Harry! How are you feeling? Did you sleep well?”

He grinned genuinely and nodded. “Ginny explained how to use the dream sieve last night.”

This brought Tonks head up in an instant. “You have a dream sieve? They’re very rare!”

Harry was still digesting this piece of information when Mrs. Weasley answered her question. “Headmaster Dumbledore gave it to us to give to Ginny after her first year, and the little dear decided to give it to Harry for his birthday this year.” The older woman smiled, obviously proud of her youngest for her selflessness, and then turned to Harry. “I’m glad it worked so well. It helped Ginny quite a bit to recover after her encounter with…” Suddenly Harry felt incredibly awkward. He hadn’t really wanted to talk about his nightmares, or the events that had caused them.

“Like I said, it’s the best birthday present I think anyone has ever given me,” Harry hurried to repeat his words from the night before.

Mrs. Weasley’s smile broadened, as she obviously understood his reaction. He felt his cheeks color slightly as he realized how easy he was to see through, and he turned his head away, ostensibly to look around the kitchen. He spotted Dobby, his excuse away from the perceptive older woman. “Dobby!”

Dobby got as excited as ever at being shown attention. “Mr. Harry Potter, sir! What can Dobby be doing for kind Harry Potter sir?”

“Actually, I had a question…” He glanced back at the women and saw them watching. “Can we talk about this in the other room?”

“Certainly, Harry Potter sir!” With those words, Dobby popped into the next room (literally) and Harry followed him at a pace more confined by the laws of physics.

He looked down at the tiny house elf. Considering how loud Dobby tended to speak, he decided his next request was necessary. “Can you cast a silencing charm, Dobby?” The house elf nodded and did just that.

“What is Harry Potter wanting from Dobby?”

“Well, I was thinking that you probably know this house pretty well, now…” Dobby nodded again. Harry winced, worried that the poor creature was going to give himself whiplash with all his enthusiasm. “Do you know, is there a place where I could work on potions other than in the kitchen? I need to practice for school, but I don’t want to be in the way of you or anyone else.”

Dobby grinned and nodded. “Oh yes, Dobby is knowing just the place!” With that, the house elf took Harry’s hand (causing him to have to lean over just slightly, which was not the most comfortable position), and guided him down into the basement, to a room that had obviously been used for potion making at some point in the long history of the house. Harry had to wonder about the predominance of underground rooms as potential locations for potions labs.

He tugged his hand out of Dobby’s, sighing in relief as he was able to stand up straight again. “Thank you, Dobby, this is perfect. Can you do me a favor and not tell anyone when I’m down here? I want to be able to work on potions in private.”

“Yes sir, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is not being telling anyone about Harry Potter’s secret room.”

Now all he had to do was make sure that he was not down there when anyone might be looking for him…

The days began to settle into a routine almost immediately. That first day, Harry went up to the library and did some potions research in the early hours, so as to be available if anyone came looking for him. Each day afterward, he would wake up before the sun rose and sneak down to the basement, being careful to make sure that no one knew that he was awake. He would spend several hours making whatever potions he wanted to practice, which in those early days were often healing potions. Once it got late enough in the day, he would sneak up into the library and simply not tell anyone how long he had been awake. Once the others had awakened, they would have a filling breakfast before setting to work in the library, studying their respective stacks of books. They would break for lunch, then continue for several hours until Ron would announce that, “If I have to read one more sentence, I will go mad!” Ginny would giggle, Harry would shut his book with a resounding thud, and the boys would steal Hermione’s book once again. Invariably, Hermione would pretend not to have heard Ron’s announcement and would put up a fight to be allowed to keep her book. Unfortunately, she was simply no match against two teenage boys, and Ginny appeared to be avoiding taking sides.

Nearly a week passed in this manner, and Harry was beginning to relax and truly live in the present. The absence of nightmares to continually remind him of what had happened in the past few years was certainly helping in this matter. On the morning of August 6th, he realized with a start that it had been nearly a week since he had promised Dumbledore that he would talk to an adult about what had happened with the Dursleys. He groaned aloud, and began mentally eliminating adults once again as he slowly stirred his potion. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were out, he simply couldn’t talk about this with them, especially when they might not know anything about it. Remus was too close to his father and Sirius, he just couldn’t talk about something like this with him. Not to mention he was still slightly miffed with the man for tricking him into coming to Grimmauld Place in the first place, even if it was turning out for the best. He had even more anger reserved for Dumbledore, so that eliminated the older man. Tonks was too young. No, that wasn’t quite right. She was too fun-loving. He didn’t want to be the one to wipe the smile from her face, not if he could help it. Which left…

“Mr. Potter, may I ask what you are doing in the basement at 6:30 in the morning?” Professor Snape seemed to have appeared behind him while he was lost in thought. Harry wondered for a moment how the man had found his secret room, before cursing himself. Of course Professor Snape would know where the potions lab was!

Without turning around, he responded as calmly as he could, “Working on a potion, sir.” He continued to stir the potion carefully, while waiting for a response.

“Come, Mr. Potter, surely you aren’t still holding out hope that I will suddenly change my policies and let you into my N.E.W.T. potions class?”

Harry wanted to protest that the man didn’t even know what he had gotten on his O.W.L.s, but fortunately he realized before he spoke that just because he hadn’t received his results did not mean that his teachers had not. Maybe the man standing behind him was waiting for his defensive response to taunt him with the fact that he had received a mark of Dreadful on the exam.

“If I’m not in N.E.W.T. potions it will not mean that I do not need to learn potions, merely that you will not be teaching me.” He mentally added, “And I will certainly learn more.”

He waited with bated breath for the man’s response. Finally, he heard the man slowly respond, “And how, pray tell, will you learn potions?”

“I can read, you know,” Harry responded for the first time in anger.

“You could have fooled me, what with the way you never appear to have read a line of the textbook at the beginning of each school year.”

He felt the anger boiling up inside of him, but shoved it down in favor of speaking more calmly. He would not let the man get a rise out of him. “You know that has nothing to do with my ability to read. Tell me, can you honestly tell me that you never suspected the truth?”

“What truth, Potter?”

“That my relatives were… mistreating me.” By this point, Harry had had a “brilliant” idea. Later, he would curse himself and wonder if the fumes from the potion he was making had driven him to temporary insanity. He was going to talk to Snape about what had happened. After all, the man already knew quite a bit, after Occlumency training and his little outburst a week before, and of all the adults, he would be the least likely to want to continue the conversation, letting Harry fulfill his promise with the least amount of discomfort. Or, at least, that was his logic at the time.

“Why would I possibly consider such a thing?” the man sounded angry now, but Harry was beyond caring. In another situation he might have smiled at the thought that he was remaining calm longer than his usually implacable professor.

“You saw quite a few of my early memories. And despite your anti-Gryffindor sentiments, I would think even you could have realized that there might be something more to the reason why I always returned to school undernourished and without having studied anything.”

“Undernourished…?” Harry could almost sense the man narrowing his eyes. “Potter, did your relatives feed you over the summer?”

“Sometimes I got dinner,” he responded shortly, realizing at the last moment that it was time to begin adding the powdered bicorn horn. Stir, add a bit, stir, add some more. He was so focused on the routine that he almost didn’t hear Snape’s next question.

“And how often did they hit you?” Harry had to wonder why Snape was asking so many questions. He had been expecting the man to end the conversation as quickly as possible. Maybe Dumbledore had told him what to do in case Harry did what he was doing now, and chose to speak to Snape? He didn’t know how the headmaster could have guessed, since he had no idea he was going to do it himself, but he never knew how the headmaster guessed anything.

“They didn’t hit me,” he replied defensively, then realized he needed to continue to avoid being yelled at for lying. “My uncle would trip me, or shove me, or knock me into a table, but he wouldn’t hit me.”

Harry had the feeling that Snape was rolling his eyes as he spoke again. “Fine. How often did he hurt you? And what about your aunt and cousin?”

“I don’t know how often he did it, I wasn’t exactly counting,” he grumbled, ignoring the second question. This conversation was not going as he had hoped.

“Once a week? Once a day? Ten times a day? Surely you are capable of estimating, Potter,” Snape responded snidely. “And don’t think I will leave your aunt and cousin out of this, I’m certain they were involved as well.”

“Did Dumbledore put you up to this?” he blurted out, adding the next ingredient without even thinking about it. His potions practice was paying off already, obviously.

“Did Dumbledore put me up to what, Potter?” Harry was becoming increasingly irritated by the man pretended as though he didn’t understand a word Harry said unless he spelled it out explicitly.

“Did Dumbledore tell you to ask me these questions? Or do you actually care about what they did?” Harry knew that this would get an answer out of Snape. He hadn’t taken potions for five years with the man without learning what would set him off.

“Please don’t make the childish error of conflating responsibility with caring. No, Headmaster Dumbledore did not tell me to ask these questions, as he had no idea that we would even come in contact. I would have preferred that we did not, but as you seem willing to answer my questions, it is my duty as a professor to ask them.”

At that moment, the last of Harry’s respect went out the window. It was the holidays, so Snape could not deduct points or give him a detention, and for all he knew he wouldn’t even have the bitter man as a professor, ever again. “Well, while we’re getting the truth out, I would not be answering your questions at all if Professor Dumbledore had not locked me in a room until I promised to talk about this with someone. So, your answers are: my uncle hit me as many times a day as he could, my aunt didn’t know that they were hurting me but had everything to do with starving me, and my cousin Dudley would enlist his friends to pin me and beat me as often as possible.” He removed his cauldron from the fire as quickly as he could without spilling its contents, having completed the potion, and set it to the side to cool. “I’ll let you have the basement to yourself now.” He turned and walked past Snape, taking care to not look anywhere near his face. He had avoided eye contact this long, he wasn’t going to start now.

“Potter!” Snape called out as he was at the door. Harry stopped involuntarily at the commanding tone in his voice, but didn’t turn.

“Professor Snape?”

“You have created an excellent burn healing paste. It’s unfortunate that school is not in session, for I might have awarded you 10 points…” Harry was shocked at the compliment, until the man continued, “and I would certainly have taken 50 points for disrespect towards a teacher.”

Harry shook his head. “So sorry to deprive you, Professor,” he replied sarcastically. With that he escaped the basement with all the haste that he usually reserved for leaving the dungeons of Hogwarts, and snuck into the library without being noticed by anyone. It was still only seven in the morning, after all.

In which a strange display triggers an essential conversation.

"Adversity has the effect of eliciting talents, which in prosperous circumstances would have lain dormant."

Horace

Several hours later, the others had joined Harry in the library. No one commented about the fact that, as always, Harry was the first one awake and in the library. It had not passed Hermione’s notice, however, that he seemed to be in a particularly restless mood this particular morning.

She had no way of knowing, of course, that Harry was only now beginning to regret his earlier loose tongue, especially considering the way his conversation with Snape had ended. Not only that, but he had also realized that he had forgotten to demand that the potions professor promise that he would not speak with the headmaster about anything Harry had told him. Dumbledore had told him that he could swear whomever he spoke with to secrecy, but he had completely forgotten at the moment, and now it was too late.

“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione finally asked, and Ron and Ginny looked up to see what had distracted the committed bookworm from her reading. Harry had just been wondering if Snape might still be in the basement, but knew that there was no way he could get away from the library to find out.

He looked up from the book that he was ostensibly reading. “What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that—“ To Harry’s eternal relief, she was cut off in mid-sentence by a pop. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, had just appeared in the middle of the room, carrying quite a few envelopes.

“Fawkes!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione was sufficiently distracted. “Is that a phoenix?” she asked in an awed voice.

Harry nodded. “That’s not any phoenix, that’s Professor Dumbledore’s phoenix.”

Ginny and Ron nodded. “That’s the one that carried us out of the Chamber of Secrets second year,” added Ron.

By this point Fawkes had sidled over to Harry and had held out his leg. Harry was surprised to see that the magical bird had letters. Why would Dumbledore send these by phoenix instead of by owl? Nevertheless, he hurried to remove the letters so that Fawkes could be on his way. “Thank you very much, Fawkes,” he said sincerely. He might not feel very happy about the headmaster at the moment, but he was still on good terms with the phoenix, and didn’t want to damage that. Fawkes sang a few quick notes, and then with a flash disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Harry then looked at the envelopes that had been delivered. It appeared that all of them had received their school letters. In addition, Ron, Hermione, and Harry all had another official looking envelope. As soon as Harry handed Hermione her letter, she squealed, “Oh, it must be the O.W.L. results!” Ron groaned.

Harry, for his part, was distracted by his third envelope, which unlike the others was personally addressed. Not only that, but he recognized the writing as the headmaster’s. Hesitantly he opened it, and began to read.

Harry,

First let me apologize for the unorthodox method of communication—owls can no longer enter Grimmauld Place because of the updated wards. We want to make absolutely certain that no one finds the house that shouldn’t. Thus Fawkes had to deliver these letters instead.

The second reason that I am writing this letter is to address the issue of Diagon Alley. Now that you have received your letters for school, I’m certain that Mrs. Weasley will soon arrange a trip to Diagon Alley. You may not go. I know you will be upset, but please try to remember that we are trying to assure your safety. If you give her your letter and a list of any other items you need, I’m certain that Mrs. Weasley or one of the other order members can pick them up.

Sincerely,

Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards

Harry felt a cold fury building up inside of him at a rapid rate. How dare he?? The man had the nerve to say that he was looking out for his safety, after allowing him to fight a man possessed by Voldemort in his first year, fight a basilisk and a young Tom Riddle for Ginny’s life in second year, rescue Buckbeak, Sirius, and himself in third year, and take part in the TriWizard Tournament in his fourth year. And now the headmaster wanted him safe??

In his anger he had leapt to his feet, knocking over his chair in the process. He realized that Ginny was speaking. “—ry, are you alright? Can you even hear me?”

Harry blinked. The strangest sensation began to come over him. It was as if he were in the middle of a balloon, a balloon that somehow was an extension of him. He realized that he had felt this bubble around him before, in a vague sort of way, but now the balloon was growing larger. And just like a balloon, as it grew larger, it also became more fragile, and pressure was harder for it to take. Right now, the presence of his friends was compressing that balloon almost to its breaking point, even as it continued to grow larger.

Gasping in panic, he almost tripped over the chair he had upset trying to get out the door. “Just, please, don’t follow me!” He didn’t think he wanted to find out what happened when the balloon burst, and it was only a matter of time if he didn’t get himself alone.

He raced down the hallway, only to stop as he tried to pass the kitchen. Hearing the sudden sound of footsteps, the motherly witch had exited the kitchen to see what was happening. Harry winced and backed off, moving back toward the library in the process. Only to feel compression from the other side, as Ron, Ginny, and Hermione caught up to him.

“No…” He focused all his energy on giving the balloon the resilience it needed to not pop. Some distant part of himself heard his voice say, “Mrs. Weasley, please, go back into the kitchen.” When he looked up and she was still there, staring at him in wide-eyed concern, he snapped, “Now!” This no-nonsense tone snapped her out of her daze and she immediately backed into the kitchen. Harry waited until he felt the pressure from that end subside, then took off down the hallway again, ducking into his room and slamming the door behind him. Finally, he collapsed onto his bed, exhausted and completely confused.

“Harry, son, it’s time to wake up now…” The teenage wizard moaned at the headache blooming as he slowly woke, trying to ignore the gentle nudging of his arm. There was a chuckle from above him and to the right. “I know, waking from a nap is lousy, but really, you don’t want to sleep away the whole of the day or you’ll never sleep tonight.”

“Uhh..?” was the most coherent response that Harry seemed capable of mustering. What was going on? The last thing he remembered was collapsing onto the bed… after that strange feeling… that morning… Finally his thoughts started to coalesce and he shot up to a sitting position, opening his eyes just in time to narrowly knocking into a red head that had been looming over him. “Ron?”

Another chuckle, one that, while familiar, was decidedly not Ron’s. Harry threw his hand toward his bedside table, scrambling for his glasses like the lifeline that they seemed to be. There were decided disadvantages to being blind without them, and not knowing who had just woken him was just one of them.

His visitor reached past him and then gently pressed the object of his search into his hand for him. Gratefully, he slipped them on, then realized that it was Arthur Weasley sitting across from him. He had only seen his friend’s father in passing since his birthday party a week ago; apparently he was working long hours at the ministry again, no doubt in part because of Fudge’s incompetence in not recognizing Voldemort’s return until seeing him with his own eyes at the beginning of the summer.

He blinked sleep away quickly. “Mr. Weasley? What are you doing here?” Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wondered why he had said them. Ron’s father had every right to be here, and in fact should not have been forced to put in such long hours at the ministry constantly, especially considering his pay or lack thereof.

But Mr. Weasley just chuckled. “Please, Harry, call me Arthur, at the least. You’re practically my seventh son, albeit without the red hair.” Then he turned more serious in answering Harry’s question. “Everyone’s been quite worried about you since this morning. What exactly happened, if you don’t mind telling me?”

Harry was relieved that Mr. Weasley wasn’t pushing him. Of the all the adults in his life, Harry thought that Ron’s father was the one he appreciated the most. He didn’t constantly come down on him like his aunt, uncle, and Snape, he didn’t baby him like Mrs. Weasley had a tendency to do, and he certainly didn’t try to manipulate him like Dumbledore seemed so fond of doing. He respected Harry, and Harry always had the feeling that it had to do with him and not the fact that he was the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ or ‘James Potter’s son.’

He frowned as he put things together. He actually did plan on answering the red-headed man’s questions, but first he had a few things he had to clarify. “How long did you say that I’d been sleeping?” It felt like it had only been a few hours, but why would Mr. Weasley be home in the middle of the day, and why would he be concerned that Harry was going to have trouble sleeping that night if that were the case?

Mr. Weasley laughed. “It’s almost dinner time; Molly’s helping Dobby put the finishing touches on the meal right now. She’s going to make certain that you make up for missing lunch, I’m sure.”

Harry forgot to groan in his shock. “Why did everyone let me sleep so long??” In all honesty, he really couldn’t believe that Mrs. Weasley had let him miss lunch, as she was as usual insistent on assisting him to gain any weight he had lost at the Dursley’s, and more.

“No one could get through the locking charm you cast on the door, we had to wait until it wore off.” Mr. Weasley frowned, and his voice took on a hard tone. “You are very fortunate that the Ministry somehow missed that piece of magic. Molly called me frantically and made me check and make certain, since you wouldn’t have been able to get the notice if you had been expelled. What were you thinking, Harry?”

Harry wrinkled his brow. “Mr. Weasley, I didn’t cast a locking charm! You have to believe me… I don’t want to get expelled from Hogwarts, and I came close enough last summer!” Even though the details of his return to his room were fuzzy, he knew he hadn’t touched his wand. He had just fallen into bed.

Fortunately, Mr. Weasley seemed to believe him. “Interesting… were you feeling particularly strongly about keeping people out of your room?”

Harry frowned. “Are you suggesting that I unintentionally cast a wandless locking charm, strong enough that no one in the house could undo it? And the ministry still should have detected it… not that I’m complaining that they didn’t!”

“Well, have you cast any other wandless magic since you started Hogwarts… oh, wait, I seem to remember hearing about you blowing up your aunt several years ago!” he seemed triumphant at having evidence for his theory. “And I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but the ministry does not and cannot track wandless magic. Their tracking is based on your wand, which is why you never get warnings before you start at Hogwarts.” He winked, apparently under the impression that Harry was likely to use this information to start all kinds of magical mischief. Harry wasn’t sure about mischief, but he was already thinking about the advantages that this knowledge could give him. But…

“Wait a second! If it is based on my wand, then how did the Ministry know about my blowing up my aunt before third year? And for that matter, why did I get a notice before my second year for the levitation charm that Dobby cast??”

Mr. Weasley chuckled. “I’m afraid that you were simply unlucky enough to be living in a house with more wards than anyone cares to count. One of those wards means that no piece of magic cast in that home goes undetected, and since you’re the only wizard in the home, the assumption was always that you would be the source of any magic.” He seemed to process another part of what Harry had said. “And what was that about Dobby casting levitation charms in your house? Why would he be doing a silly thing like that? And if that was before second year, then wasn’t he still working for the Malfoy family at the time?”

Harry could never fault Mr. Weasley for being slow on the uptake. He had to remind himself that just because someone could be eccentric did not mean they were unobservant. Luna Lovegood had been quite an object lesson in that matter over the past year. Harry gave a less than amused chuckle. “It’s sort of a long story, sir…”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “What did I tell you about calling me Arthur? Goodness, one would think you’ve never met me, with all your ‘sir’s and ‘Mr. Weasley’s!”

Harry gave a small but genuine smile at this. “Sorry, sir.” Then he groaned as he heard what he had just said. “Nevermind, s—Mr.—“ he choked on his instinctive words. “Seems to be a bit of a habit, I apologize,” he recovered finally, and Mr. Weasley just laughed good-naturedly.

“I have indeed noticed that. Now, about that long story…”

The wizard trailed off as they both heard Molly’s powerful voice carrying up from the kitchen. “Arthur, have you gotten Harry up yet? Dinner’s ready!”

Mr. Weasley looked to Harry. “We’d best get downstairs, before she comes after you for skipping another meal and me for encouraging it.” He winked.

But the thought of going downstairs reminded Harry once again of that frightening feeling of pressure that had emanated from everyone around him earlier that day. He didn’t think that he could bring himself to go down into the group of people that was surely gathering in the kitchen, even if they were all friends. “Mr. Weasley, I…”

The older man looked back from his position halfway to the door. Almost immediately his face took on an understanding cast. “How about I just go down and see what I can do about convincing Molly to let you eat your dinner up here?” Harry nodded quickly in appreciation. “Good, and then you can finish telling me this long story involving Dobby.” The man winked and then walked from the room.

Harry listened to the percussion of the man’s feet as he hurried down the stairs, contemplating the Weasley patriarch’s ability to understand what he was intending even when he didn’t say much—or anything. It was different than with Dumbledore. The headmaster of Hogwarts always gave Harry the feeling that his mind was being sifted through, most likely a very subtle form of the art of Legilimency. Mr. Weasley, on the other hand, simply seemed to understand him. It gave Harry a feeling of being normal and of belonging, as he realized that the man was simply drawing from his experience with his six sons to guess at what Harry would be thinking. He could hardly be overwhelmingly freakish or strange if he acted so similarly to the man’s own sons.

He was hungry, but when he saw how much food Mr. Weasley returned with several minutes later, he was overwhelmed. Even after he realized that the older man was eating with him, his ‘portion’ still seemed like more than even Dudley could eat—that was to say, more than twice what Harry would normally eat on a good day at Hogwarts. He sincerely hoped that Mrs. Weasley was not expecting him to finish all of the food that she had provided, or he might burst.

Mr. Weasley laughed when he saw the expression on Harry’s face. “Just eat as much as you can, Harry, and we can ‘dispose’ of the rest.” Another wink. Harry was really beginning to appreciate Ron’s father’s gentle, good-natured sense of humor. “And while you’re at it, tell me about Dobby.”

So Harry ate slowly and explained everything about what had happened—Dobby coming to warn him and getting him into trouble with his family and the Ministry, Dobby closing the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, the enchanted Bludger, and finally his setting Dobby free. The story was hard to tell at times, as he tried to work around admitting his being locked in his room during the summer, and had to remind Mr. Weasley of the unfortunate incident involving Ron and the much-loved Ford Anglia.

Worst of all, however, was discussing the diary. Mr. Weasley thanked him profusely once again for saving Ginny from the basilisk and Tom Riddle, and seemed quite impressed that Harry had thought of a way to rescue Dobby from the Malfoys’ abuse, and had risked himself doing it. Harry, though, simply felt embarrassed; rescuing Ginny had been his responsibility, as no one else could have done it, and he couldn’t help being frustrated in retrospect that he had been so caught up in his social problems (e.g. being accused of being the heir of Slytherin) as to not even notice Ginny’s odd behavior and put the pieces together. And with all of Dobby’s “rescue attempts,” setting the poor house elf free had helped him as much as it had the elf.

When he had completed the entire story, Harry was surprised to find that he had finished more than half of the exorbitant amount of food that Mrs. Weasley had sent up. For a few minutes, both he and the Weasley patriarch sat back in a comfortable silence, letting the food in their stomachs settle. Finally, though, Mr. Weasley broke the silence with a more serious question.

“Before dinner, we figured out that you must have unintentionally cast a wandless locking charm on the door to keep people out—and explained why the Ministry didn’t catch on. But Harry, why were you locking yourself in your room? All Molly and the kids could tell me was that you apparently panicked in the library and wouldn’t let anyone come near you.”

Something in the man’s voice tipped Harry off that this was more than a casual question. This was what Mr. Weasley had been aiming toward finding out all along. He felt the vitriol not so far from the surface begin to bubble furiously as he began to suspect that this whole conversation was nothing more than another of Dumbledore’s elaborate manipulations. “Dumbledore knew that I wouldn’t answer him, didn’t he?”

“What?” The man sounded genuinely confused.

“Dumbledore. He ordered you to ask me what had happened this morning because he knew I wouldn’t answer him, didn’t he?”

Mr. Weasley seemed taken aback at the anger in Harry’s voice, but he recovered quickly. Leaning forward, he spoke quietly but earnestly. “Harry, I’m becoming concerned for you; everyone is, I think. You’re very angry, especially at Professor Dumbledore, and no one knows why. You’re quieter than usual, and you won’t open up to anyone. And then today I came home to find Molly and several Order members frantically trying to negate the locking charm on your door after you had panicked and disappeared in here; they were worried that you might have been attacked by Voldemort, or had some kind of breakdown. The only thing that Dumbledore has told us was to be careful and stay away from your room for a while, so we waited as long as we could but didn’t want you to miss dinner.” He sighed. “The adults in your life, especially those in the Order, are here to help you, Harry. You seem to think that you need to do everything on your own, but that’s not the case. I don’t know if this has something to do with living with your aunt and uncle, or your experiences at Hogwarts, or if it’s just some innate part of your personality, but you do need to learn to trust. What can I do to help you do that?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be taken aback. He realized slowly that this was quite possibly the longest conversation that he had ever had with an adult. He had told Mr. Weasley things that he had never told anyone but Ron and Hermione. Granted, it was nothing important, and nothing to do with Voldemort, but still he was surprised at himself. Now, though, he had risked all the trust that he had begun to develop with Ron’s father by accusing him of being involved in Dumbledore’s manipulations.

“I—uh…” he stammered in response. He looked down, his cheeks taking on a slightly pinkish tinge as he realized how undeserved his accusations and anger had been. “I’m sorry, sir… It’s just, Professor Dumbledore makes me so angry sometimes. He’s not perfect… he even admits it… and yet he tries to control every aspect of my life. It’s like he doesn’t think that I can take care of myself, even after everything I’ve done.”

“Oh Harry…” Mr. Weasley breathed. “This is what I’m trying to explain to you. Most teens wouldn’t even think to try to take responsibility for the kinds of things that you take in stride. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, it’s that he wants to spare you from those responsibilities!”

“Yeah, well, his attempt to protect me from the responsibility of the prophecy last year just ended up making me responsible for my godfather’s death,” Harry responded bitterly. When he saw the shock cross Mr. Weasley’s face he realized what he had just said. “I mean… uh…”

“Harry,” Mr. Weasley began sternly. “You are not responsible for Sirius’ death. That blame could fall to Bellatrix Lestrange and perhaps ultimately to Voldemort, but it does not fall to you.”

Harry’s frustration at the perpetual condescension bubbled over again. Did they think that he couldn’t see the truth? “I’m not stupid, Mr. Weasley. If I had practiced Occlumency more often, Voldemort wouldn’t have been able to plant those images in my head. If I hadn’t gotten Snape angry at me, he might still have been able to teach me enough to at least recognize a false vision. If I had remembered that Snape was a member of the Order before Umbridge caught me, he could have checked and told me that Sirius was at Grimmauld Place. Or if I had remembered the mirror that Sirius gave me, I could have checked for myself, without getting tricked by Kreacher. Even if I had listened to Hermione and realized that Voldemort was manipulating my ‘saving people thing,’ I could have still waited instead of rushing into things once again.”

Mr. Weasley leaned forward, sighing in frustration. “You could as easily blame Professor Snape for not being more patient in teaching you Occlumency, or Professor Umbridge for obstructing you at every turn, or Kreacher for lying to you. Or you could blame Voldemort for putting the vision in your head and Bellatrix Lestrange for knocking her own cousin through the veil. Besides which, I don’t think Sirius would have wanted you to blame yourself when he rushed into the battle of his own accord.”

Harry felt tears burning at the backs of his eyes and blinked desperately, refusing to let them escape. “But don’t you see? I could have stopped it, if I had done any one of many things! Instead, I made mistake after mistake after mistake, and now it’s my fault that I don’t have Sirius anymore!” In the midst of this admission of his own guilt and shame, several tears slipped out despite Harry’s best efforts. Turning his head away from Mr. Weasley he angrily swiped at the wetness on his cheeks, trying to hold back the sobs of anguish that were now collecting in his throat.

“Harry… Harry!” At the urgency in the older wizard’s tone, he turned his head back to face the man, trying to ignore the embarrassing wetness still on his cheeks. The shared grief on Mr. Weasley’s face threatened to undo him. “Oh, Harry, you’ve been trying to deal with this all on your own, haven’t you?” Choking down a sob, Harry nodded slowly, not willing to voice his feeling that he really didn’t see another choice. The older wizard opened his arms subtly, and whispered, “Come here, Harry.”

Harry hesitated for a long moment. To say that the Dursleys had never offered him any physical affection when he was a child would have been the understatement of the century. He had at times suspected that the reason that they hadn’t abused him more actively throughout his life was that they didn’t want to touch him, afraid that they would be infected by his “freakiness” if they did so. Still, there was a large part of him that yearned to be wrapped up in someone’s arms, to be held as he felt miserable and mourned the loss of one of the last connections to his parents. Slowly, though, he shook his head. He just couldn’t let himself go.

Mr. Weasley sighed in understanding. “There’s nothing wrong with crying, Harry… you need to grieve.”

Harry replied with a small nod. “I know, but… I just… can I be alone, for a while?”

Mr. Weasley hesitated, then smiled in understanding and stood to his feet. “Certainly, Harry… I’ll just go downstairs and let people know that you are resting and don’t want to be disturbed. If you’re up to it, you can always come down later.” He paused, smiling down at Harry affectionately. “But please, Harry, remember that you can always talk to me. I have never once let one of my sons go through anything like this on their own, and I won’t let you either.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” he whispered, and watched as the man turned and walked out the door. Right before the door closed, Mr. Weasley stuck his head in.

“Sleep well, son.”

Harry was certain that as soon as he had the room to himself, he would burst into the sobs that had been gathering at the back of his throat, and let the tears in his eyes fall at long last. If nothing else, he would have predicted that Mr. Weasley calling him “son” would have allowed him to let go.

The sobs continued to collect, threatening to choke him, but he just couldn’t let them out. He closed his eyes tightly and one tear leaked out, but he couldn’t let them fall. He beat at his pillow in frustration, wanting more than anything to release the grief that threatened to swallow him whole and knowing that the release would never come. Choking on a sob of frustration, he tore his glasses off and got under his covers. Pulling them all the way over his head, he waited for sleep to come and give him a brief reprieve from the neverending pain.

In which Tonks’ attempt at cunning backfires.

I still feel the same

though everything has changed

the pain it cost now I feel lost inside of my own name

but I keep running

I am running

I keep living for the day that I'm with you

that I'm with you

the past has left its stain

now I feel the shame

I'll seize the day if you take away the chains of yesterday

but I keep running

I am running

I keep living for the day that I'm with you

-- Out of Breath from the album Stanley Climbfall by Lifehouse

He couldn’t take it anymore.

Harry woke early the next morning due to the fact that he had gone to sleep so early the night before. He lay in his bed for quite some time, considering the day ahead of him. Many of these thoughts involved how he was going to explain his behavior the day before to his friends, and how he was going to avoid Dumbledore when he inevitably came to Grimmauld Place to interrogate him.

Finally he began to get claustrophobic, realizing that he would be trapped in Sirius’ old house for more than three weeks without any true possibility of going off to be alone. Unless he could “accidentally” cast another wandless locking charm on his door, even his room wouldn’t be a refuge. This clinched the decision for him—he was getting out of there, and once he had gotten far enough away to be sure he was unobserved, he would use his newly discovered abilities as a metamorphmagus to make himself unrecognizable.

He packed a small bag full of important items, including two changes of clothes and some toiletries, along with all of the wizarding money that he had left over from previous withdrawals from Gringotts. He considered it a possibility that he might be willing to return within a few days, but he wanted to be prepared in case he didn’t. He wished that he had his Firebolt back from the school, but then realized that he couldn’t use his invisibility cloak on his broom, and he couldn’t use magic to cast a Disillusionment Charm even if he wanted to.

Checking to make sure that his wand was safely in his back pocket, he swept his invisibility cloak over his head and with a look in the full-length mirror confirmed that he was completely hidden beneath it. After his recent growth spurt he had to stoop over quite a bit to achieve this result. He was tempted to shrink himself a bit to ease the strain on his back, but decided that just in case he got caught, it was a better idea to get himself away from Grimmauld Place before morphing at all. As hard as it was to explain away having grown 6 inches or more in a matter of weeks, it would be much harder to explain having shrunk 6 inches overnight.

He slipped out of his room and closed the door behind him. No use advertising that he was out of his room; it would be better if no one started looking for him just yet. With any luck they would decide that he was exhausted from the events of yesterday and sleeping in like a normal teenager, and not check in on him until mid-morning or later.

He made it all the way down the stairs and out the door before he began to get a strange tingling sensation, which he interpreted as someone watching him. But unless it was Mad-Eye, that was impossible, because his invisibility cloak was still wrapped tightly around him. He shook the feeling off and took several steps forward.

He heard the whisper from his right but didn’t realize its import in time to take a firmer grip on his invisibility cloak before it slipped out of his grasp. Someone had performed a summoning charm. Not willing to give up his escape plans just yet, he took off in a sprint, running away from Grimmauld Place. He dodged instinctively and managed to avoid all three shots of what he irrationally assumed to be a stunning curse.

Unfortunately, though, he had no way of dodging out of the way in time when his pursuer apparated directly in front of him. Both of them went crashing to the ground as he ran right into the person. Before he could even identify his jailer, he was trapped in a Full-Body Bind. After that, he was levitated into the house, where his body was leaned up against the wall in an uncomfortably unstable position. Finally he got a glimpse of the witch that had caught him.

It was no less than Nymphadora Tonks, and Harry had never seen her so furious. “You idiot! Do you have any idea how lucky you are??” she hissed at him. Harry knew that he would have crossed his arms defensively and looked away at this point if he could, but instead he was trapped staring directly at her, unable to even blink. “What if I had been a Death Eater? And where did you think you were going? Here we are all working to make wherever you are staying safe, and all you do is go out and try to get yourself killed! I’m beginning to believe Snape has it right when he says you are too arrogant to care if you inconvenience us by almost getting yourself killed just so that you can have some fun!!”

She seemed to finally get herself nominally under control, and she collapsed to the couch with a huff, just watching Harry’s frozen form. When she finally spoke, her manner and tone were much more relaxed, though there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that she was still furious. “Actually, you’re incredibly fortunate that I was the one who caught you pulling this stunt. Professor Dumbledore suspected that you might pull a stunt like this and we have the discretion to ‘take care of you’ however we see fit. So what shall I do?” She paused, tapping her index finger thoughtfully against her chin. “I could lock you in your room…”

Harry’s spirits brightened slightly at that possibility. He would be furious that he was trapped in his room against his will, but at least it would serve the purpose of letting him have some time to himself without everyone else trying to meddle and ‘help.’ But Tonks continued, “No, we’ve all noticed how you’re trying to avoid everyone. I’m not certain that giving you time to yourself is going to teach you any lesson.” She sighed. “I’m sure Molly Weasley could find you plenty of degrading chores to do…”

Even if Harry wasn’t frozen, he wouldn’t have bothered to point out that nothing that they could give him would be worse than the Dursleys. “I could make you help Snape with his potions making for the Order, but I’m afraid he would find that as much a punishment as you would…” Suddenly a feral grin covered her face. “I’ve got it..!” she whispered excitedly, and to Harry it sounded as though she had just thought up a particularly malicious prank. He guessed from this impression that he should be afraid, and in retrospect this was absolutely correct.

For a moment she was silent, screwing up her face in concentration just as she did right before she morphed. Then, however, she began uttering a steady string of Latin, too fast for Harry to catch any of it, but he did make out the very last words, “Harry Potter, Molly Weasley.” Immediately after she said this, Harry felt a splitting headache coming on rapidly. He noticed blearily through the pain that she had released him from the Full-Body Bind, just to grab his wrist and drag him toward the kitchen. He wasn’t putting up much of a fight, as he was split between the horrible headache and his thoughts about what Tonks might have done to him.

The moment he entered the kitchen and saw Mrs. Weasley helping Dobby with breakfast, though, the headache spontaneously disappeared. It didn’t ebb away slowly as Harry’s headaches usually did; instead, it was merely there one second and gone the next.

“Molly! Harry’s up early and he wants to help you with breakfast!” Tonks greeted the woman cheerfully. Mrs. Weasley herself smiled in greeting, then looked a bit surprised at Tonks’ announcement.

“Good morning to both of you!” She focused in on Harry, who was standing at the doorway of the kitchen, wondering uneasily what Tonks was up to. “Well, that’s very nice of you, Harry, but I think Dobby and I have everything taken care of. If you’ll just sit down, though, I’ll have a nice large breakfast ready for you in just a moment.” She smiled warmly at him, then turned back to the stove to supervise the eggs, which were scrambling themselves.

Seeing his opening, Harry dragged Tonks into the hallway just outside of the kitchen. He might have taken her further, but the moment he turned his back on Mrs. Weasley the blinding headache exploded in his head once again. He turned around, and immediately the headache subsided again. Having put together the facts at least partially, he made sure that he kept Mrs. Weasley in view while he carried on the conversation with Tonks.

“What did you do to me??”

Tonks smirked. “Well, now, I can’t exactly tell you that, since that is a ministry-controlled spell. Only aurors and hit wizards are allowed to know the details.” She paused to allow Harry’s frustration to well up in him a bit, then continued, “I can give you a hint, though. I wouldn’t let yourself stray too far from Molly today, and I recommend you behave yourself because I’m the only one who can cancel the spell.”

“What?!” He had spoken a bit too loudly and both Mrs. Weasley and Dobby turned to see what was going on. He smiled half-heartedly until they turned back to their work, then looked back to Tonks, keeping Mrs. Weasley in his peripheral vision. “You can’t do this to me!” When Tonks just smiled knowingly, he conceded, “Okay, fine, you can do this to me. But aren’t you going to at least tell her what’s going on??”

“Do you really want me to tell her what you did this morning?”

Harry was furious, but he couldn’t find a way out of this. He tried the first feeble response that came to mind. “You don’t think she really wants me hanging around all day, do you?” He refused to consider that Tonks might continue this for more than one day.

Tonks’ smile only widened. “She wants to get to know you better, Harry, she’ll be so happy to have you willing to hang around and talk instead of disappearing again!”

Harry growled lowly, casting around desperately for some escape, but coming up completely empty. Tonks then pretended to be surprised. “Whoops, time for work! I’ll see you this evening, Harry… and don’t forget to behave yourself!” She winked at him, then turned to the kitchen. “Sorry, Molly, but I can’t stick around for breakfast, the Ministry calls!”

“Oh,” Mrs. Weasley seemed slightly disappointed but nodded in understanding. “Have a nice day, then, dear!” After that, Tonks headed up the stairs to go out the same door that Harry had tried to escape from earlier. Not for the first time did Harry wish he could apparate, not that he would be able to take advantage of it now. With a sigh, he returned to the kitchen, seeing no point in remaining just outside the door.

“Come sit down, Harry, don’t be shy!” Mrs. Weasley exhorted. Harry braced himself for a long day as he took the seat she indicated. “What were you and Tonks talking about, Harry dear?”

“Nothing much,” Harry mumbled under his breath. He couldn’t believe how Tonks had trapped him. How on earth was he going to stay within sight of Mrs. Weasley all day, and without admitting why he had to? Everyone was going to be after him by the end of the day!

He was absolutely correct. When his friends came down for breakfast, they were surprised to find Harry still there, staring out the window but not eating anything. They immediately began questioning him about why he wasn’t already in the library, and he gave non-committal answers about his not being in the mood to study. They then began interrogating him about what had happened the day before, and Harry told them that he had gotten very angry at something Professor Dumbledore had said (which he didn’t elaborate on) and was afraid that he might perform accidental magic on one of them. This set Hermione off on a long lecture about how irresponsible he had been to perform the locking charm, which Harry couldn’t escape because Mrs. Weasley was insisting on cleaning up the kitchen herself while Dobby took care of the laundry for the household.

He tried to explain that he hadn’t done it intentionally, but she didn’t appear to be listening. He finally got her attention by telling her what Ron’s dad had told him about wandless magic not being tracked by the Ministry. Hermione got very excited and immediately tried to drag him along with the others to the library to do research on wandless magic. He resisted, claiming that he was tired, and Ginny suggested that he go take a nap. He refused and they finally left to go to the library without him, asking him to come up later.

When he was alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley, she turned away from the sink to talk to him. She thought he must be sticking around the kitchen and offering to help because he wanted to talk, and as Tonks had suggested she was ecstatic that he was considering opening up. She tried for nearly half an hour to get him to open up, but he only gave quiet, one-word answers to his questions. Finally, she set out to do some more work around the house. Harry resisted following for all of three minutes before the headache was just too much and he trailed stupidly after her.

It was clear that Mrs. Weasley only felt that her ideas about his wanting to open up were validated by the fact that he seemed to be staying close to her. Failing to get him to open up, she began giving him little chores to help with, and they worked silently side by side, Mrs. Weasley obviously waiting for him to begin speaking of his own accord. He remained stubbornly silent, working quietly and efficiently like the Dursleys had taught him, and she praised him profusely for his hard work.

Nonetheless, he could see that she was getting frustrated as time wore into the afternoon and he still hadn’t opened up. Finally, she spoke up. “There’s no reason for you to spend all this time helping me do chores, dear. Why don’t you go have fun with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione?”

He shrugged and muttered something along the lines of, “I don’t feel like it.”

“Is something wrong, Harry dear?”

He shook his head, probably too quickly. She sighed. “Well, I’m going to take a nap, since I was up so early this morning. Try to have some fun, won’t you? You’re on holiday.”

Harry hoped desperately that his horror didn’t show on his face as she said that. He must have covered fairly well because she didn’t question him. He tried to be unobtrusively follow her to her room, but as soon as the door closed behind her the headache was back. He fought desperately to keep from screaming, or banging on her door and begging her to come out at the expense of confessing every one of his inner secrets, not the least of which was his foolhardy attempt at escape this morning.

Ginny stumbled across him (almost literally) nearly an hour later, head in his hands sitting on the floor against the wall to her mother’s room. Without a word she sat down next to him, waiting for long minutes before finally speaking.

“Are you alright, Harry? You’ve been nearly obsessive about studying lately, and now all of a sudden you won’t go near the library.” He was grateful that she avoided mentioning the incident the day before.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, cursing Tonks mentally. That was most of what he had been doing for the last hour, trying not to think how much his head hurt—and it was a lot. Every five minutes he had been on the verge of giving in, but he had gritted his teeth and borne the pain instead. He would show Tonks.

Ginny was silent for a long moment, examining him. “I don’t believe you,” she said flatly. He waited for accusations or questions, but she just sat there quietly, staring at the wall across from them.

Finally Harry pulled his head from his hands and leaned back into the wall, then began to methodically smack the back of his head against the wall, over and over. It wasn’t as though it could make his head hurt any more.

Ginny, however, was horrified. “Harry!” As soon as she comprehended that he was not going to stop, she reached out and put her hand behind his head, so that he couldn’t hit his head again without crunching her hand in the process. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Mrs. Weasley burst from her room, looking around frantically.

“Was someone knocking on my door? Is something wrong?”

The splitting pain that had filled Harry’s head vanished in an instant, leaving behind only a dull throbbing in the back of his head from his self-violence. When he heard Mrs. Weasley’s question, he laughed in what even he realized was a slightly hysterical manner, his mood lifting strangely as the pain receded. This brought the woman running, and she immediately knelt down next to him and Ginny. “What’s wrong??” When Harry continued to laugh lightly, she looked to Ginny, who still looked horrified.

“That was his head, Mum! He was smacking his head against the wall! I was just walking down the hall and he was sitting here in the dark and he wouldn’t tell me what was going on and then he started hitting his head on the wall and wouldn’t stop until I made him!” She sounded slightly hysterical herself, which just made Harry laugh harder.

“Oh, dear…” Mrs. Weasley whispered as Harry didn’t make any attempt to stop laughing or to explain what was going on. He wasn’t in the mood for talking; he was still considering the irony of having his headache relieved by hurting his head more. She slipped her arm under his to encourage him to stand to his feet, and her surprise was evident when she realized how light he was. Her face darkened and she muttered, “Didn’t those horrid muggles feed you anything?”

Harry chuckled, but knew better than to respond. He didn’t think he had ever felt this disconnected, except perhaps after having been given that potion on his first night at Grimmauld Place. As he allowed Mrs. Weasley to drag him to his room, he pondered the possibility that he had finally cracked, and was going insane. Was this what it was like to be insane?

By the time they had reached his room, Harry felt much more under control, and was beginning to feel quite embarrassed about his behavior. How was he going to explain hitting his head against the wall and then laughing hysterically to both Mrs. Weasley and Ginny? Mrs. Weasley guided him by his elbow into the room and then indicated for him to sit down, and she took a seat on his bed as well. Ginny followed them into the room but hovered by the door. Harry didn’t examine her expression carefully because he was too busy making sure to keep Mrs. Weasley in his line of sight.

“Now, what is this all about, Harry?” asked Mrs. Weasley, her tone gentle but firm.

Harry remained silent, not having thought of any excuse that would sound even vaguely plausible, aside from the truth, which he stubbornly avoided even considering. Finally, Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Why don’t you rest in here a bit, dear? I’m just going to go give Poppy a call through the floo so that she can check and make sure you didn’t do any damage to your head.”

“No!” Harry was so panicked in the first instant that he didn’t even register her reason for leaving the room; he only knew that he wasn’t letting her get out of his sight again. He stood to follow her, then the rest of her sentence registered. “I don’t need Madam Pomfrey, I’m fine!” he insisted doggedly.

Mrs. Weasley sat back down on the bed, her expression stern. “Harry James Potter, you are either going to tell me exactly what is going on, or I am going to call Madam Pomfrey right now!”

Harry thought he caught a wince on Ginny’s face out of the corner of his eye, but he was busy being surprised at having been called by his full name. His aunt didn’t make a habit of doing that even when she was angry at him, having such a grudge against his “good-for-nothing” father. He opened and closed his mouth silently several times, imagining that he looked quite a bit like a fish out of water. Finally, he said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, exactly…” That at least was true. Mrs. Weasley nodded encouragingly but he couldn’t think of anything more to say. He glanced toward Ginny, and the woman across from him didn’t miss the gesture.

“Ginny, can you give us a little privacy?” Harry once again saw the diminutive redhead’s movements only out of the corner of his eye, and hoped that she didn’t think he was ignoring her. He felt a sudden urge to begin smacking his head against something once again when he realized how long it was going to take to try to explain everything that had happened in this one day, especially if he didn’t admit about his attempt at running away that morning. He was snapped out of his thoughts by the soft click of the door behind Ginny. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on and we can try to figure out what’s wrong?”

“I have a headache…” Harry responded weakly.

Mrs. Weasley nodded. “Well no wonder, after all that banging you were doing!” Her voice softened. “Why did you want to hurt yourself, Harry?”

“I already had a headache!” Harry protested. “It didn’t make any difference anyway…” He trailed off.

“If you had such a bad headache, why didn’t you tell me or someone else? We have potions for headaches!” She stood as if to get one herself, and Harry cried out instinctively.

“No!” She looked back at him, her eyes questioning, and he added lamely, “I don’t like potions.”

“Don’t be silly, Harry… I know they don’t taste very good, but you’ll feel so much better afterward!”

“I don’t have a headache anymore,” he answered. He stood up. “In fact, I’m fine.”

“Sit down.” He obeyed automatically. She narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t know why you’re lying to me, but I know that something’s wrong, and obviously you aren’t going to tell me. You wait right here while I call Poppy—no more stalling!” she finished when he opened his mouth to protest again. He watched her as she walked out the door, then began to swear at Tonks when the headache returned to full force, jumping up from the bed rushing after Mrs. Weasley, once again not caring what she thought of him.

He only caught a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley as she rounded another corner toward the fireplace, which gave him a brief burst of relief before the headache returned. He was so focused on catching up to her that he was startled when Ginny’s voice spoke from behind him. “What does Tonks have to do with anything?” she asked suspiciously.

The pounding pain was too distracting for him to think of a good explanation. He broke into a run, trying to escape both the persistent redhead and his mind-splitting headache. Finally he collapsed into the living room, falling to his knees in relief as he caught sight of Mrs. Weasley, even if she was preparing to throw floo powder into the fireplace.

“Wait, Mum!” Ginny called out from behind him as the powder was about to leave her mother’s hands. “He said something… He mentioned Tonks…”

Mrs. Weasley halted in mid-motion and turned to Ginny, seeing Harry in the process. “What are you doing out of your room? I thought I told you to wait there!” Then she looked thoughtful as she looked to Ginny. “You say he mentioned Tonks?” Ginny must have nodded, and Mrs. Weasley turned to the fireplace. “Nymphadora Tonks,” she called out, sticking her head in the fireplace. Harry wearily listened to the only side of the conversation he could hear. “Tonks, dear, Harry is acting very oddly. Would you by any chance have a minutes—“ She paused, then pulled her head from the fireplace. A moment later it flared and Tonks appeared.

The auror’s eyes immediately found Harry, kneeling on the ground. She moved toward him but was obviously not expecting him to launch himself at her, calling her names that caused Mrs. Weasley to protest angrily and threaten to magically clean out his mouth, all the while working to separate the two of them. Harry got one good punch to Tonks’ face before he was put in a Full Body Bind for the second time that day.

From his position on the floor Harry only caught a glimpse of the swelling beginning around Tonks’ eye before Mrs. Weasley performed a quick charm and all signs of violence disappeared. Tonks then turned to Harry and partially released the Body Bind, enough so that Harry could speak and move his arms, but his back was still ramrod straight and his legs were immobile. “What on earth were you doing attacking me?” He formed his mouth into a thin line like he had seen Professor McGonagall do on so many occasions, and refused to speak. Tonks tried a different tack. “Did you have a nice day?”

Harry called her a name that made all three women furious. Tonks glared at Harry for another moment, then turned to Mrs. Weasley. “What happened?”

“He’s been acting strangely all day, ever since this morning when you two came to the kitchen. He followed me around all day… I thought he wanted to talk, but he never did. Finally I went to take a nap, and hour later I woke up to someone banging on my wall. Ginny had found him in the hallway outside our room and he had started slamming his head against the wall. I came out to see what was going on and he started laughing hysterically, and then all he would tell me was that he had already had a headache when he started hitting his head, but he wouldn’t take a potion for his headache.” Mrs. Weasley finally paused from her rapid storytelling as she recognized the look of understanding on Tonks’ face.

Tonks began by turning to Harry and rattling off a string of Latin that sounded similar to what she had said that morning, without the names. Then she glared down at Harry. “You stubborn fool, you were supposed to talk to her, not suffer in silence!”

Harry didn’t say a word, just glared back, still furious with her. Finally, she turned to Mrs. Weasley. “I Tied him to you, Molly… line-of-sight.” She paused as the look of understanding crossed the older witch’s face. “He tried to run away this morning. This served the dual purpose of making sure he didn’t disappear and punishing him by not allowing him to run off on his own… not to mention I assumed he would actually be forced to talk to you, rather than suffering in silence like the stupid mule that he is.” She turned her glare on Harry once again.

Mrs. Weasley sighed. “Couldn’t you have told me, at least? I was taking a nap for almost an hour… it’s no wonder he was hysterical when I finally came out!”

Tonks shook her head in apparent disbelief. “Like I said, I assumed he would tell you what was going on instead of letting himself suffer.”

All this talk of him as if he weren’t there was making Harry furious; he could feel his fists clenching so tightly that his nails were nearly piercing his skin. Finally, he could take it no longer. “You think you know everything!” he nearly screamed. “You think you know who I am, and who I should be, and that you can make me into whatever you want! You think you can make me your perfect puppet, your perfect weapon! You don’t know anything, none of you do—I hate you, I hate you all!” By the time he had finished his anger was expended and he felt empty. All he wanted was to run away, but he couldn’t go anywhere while he was still in a Body Bind. “Just let me go, let me go!” He tried to put the same amount of anger into his words, to at least fake it, but his words sounded as empty as he felt.

“Finite Incantatem,” said Tonks softly, and Harry felt his body relax completely under his own control. He wanted to run more than anything, but he knew that none of them would let him be alone, especially right now. Instead he settled for curling himself into a ball, hugging his knees to his chest in a motion that was strongly reminiscent of how he had used to sit in the cupboard under the stairs when he had been thrown in there after one of his relatives had become particularly angry at him. Just as he had done then, he completely tuned out everything that was happening around him.

He jerked away when he felt a hand touch his back. “Come on, get up now,” said a soft voice, which his distant mind didn’t take great pains to identify. He didn’t even look up as he let himself be guided back to his room once again. He sat down on his bed and stared at the floor. He only looked up when the person who had followed him into his room began to leave.

“Wait,” he whispered, but it was enough. He looked up and met Tonks’ eyes. “I can’t do it, you know,” he whispered. “You can tell Dumbledore that. I can’t do it. I can’t even—“ his voice broke, and he desperately tried not to cry. “I can’t even go on… not without—without—“ He buried his face in his hands and took a few deep, shuddering breaths. “I shouldn’t even be here. It shouldn’t have been him, it should have been me. It was my fault. I shouldn’t be here… I’ll just get everyone killed. Just like Ce-Cedric and like Si-Si-Si—“ A sob escaped him, against his best efforts. Tonks was next to him now, sitting on the bed.

“Oh, Harry, it’ll be okay. It’s not your fault, and Sirius wouldn’t want to hear you talking like this…”

Fury overtook his sadness. “Well, we’ll never know if he what he would have wanted, will we??” he bellowed. “I killed him, I killed him just like I’m going to kill all of you! Why won’t you just let me leave, it’s not too late to save yourselves!!”

He saw movement by the door and looked to see that Madam Pomfrey was standing there, tears in her eyes and container full of potions in her hands. An instant later the tears were gone and she was business-like, setting down the container and selecting a potion. She walked to the bed in order to hold a potion out to Harry.

“This is a sleeping draught, to help you get some sleep… You’ll feel much better after you get some rest, I’m certain of it.”

“I’ll never feel any better!” he bellowed, and he grabbed the potion and threw it against the wall as hard as he could, sending glass shards flying. “He’s dead, he’s not coming back, and I’ll never feel any better!” The air crackled around him, and he added more quietly but no less firmly, “Leave me alone, all of you.”

“Not until you take a sleeping potion, Mr. Potter,” responded Madam Pomfrey quietly, but with the familiar hard edge to her tone.

“Are you sure there aren’t anymore experimental potions you want to use on me?” Harry responded sarcastically.

“Mr. Potter, I am making some allowances for the fact that you are clearly exhausted and out of sorts, but I will not take any more cheek. You will take a sleeping potion right now or I will stun you and you will wake up in the hospital wing at Hogwarts.”

Harry felt a tingling feeling sweep over his skin. “Try it,” he challenged angrily. “I’ve already been put in a Body Bind twice today, what’s a stunner on top of that?”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips, then lifted her wand and said, “Stupefy!”

The tingling feeling became stronger and stronger as Harry watched the bolt fly toward him, distracting him so much that he didn’t even try to dodge. When the bolt hit him, though, he just felt a cold sensation rush outward from where it hit on his chest, and then saw the red bolt hurtle back to strike Madam Pomfrey. A second later he felt a detached feeling cover him and he his eyes were already rolling up into his head before the second bolt hit him.

In which new attempts are made to help Harry.

Hello, good morning, how you been?

Yesterday left my head kicked in

I never, never thought that

I would fall like that

Never knew that I could hurt this bad

--from the song Learning to Breathe, by Switchfoot

Harry woke to hear a row taking place right outside his door, judging by the volume. “I warned him that he would wake up in the Hospital Wing if he continued resisting, and now he has attacked me!” came Madam Pomfrey’s shrill voice. “We need to—“

She was cut off by two other voices. “I hardly think that it was on purpose!” protested Tonks.

“May I remind you that students have not been allowed to remain at Hogwarts during the summer months for several centuries—“ was Dumbledore’s weary reply.

“Clearly he has become unhinged following the death of that mangy mutt—“

“Severus!” Mrs. Weasley interjected indignantly.

“—and he should be transferred to St. Mungo’s immediately,” Snape finished smoothly, as though he had never been interrupted.

“He’s no more cracked than you are!” Ginny replied brashly, causing a brief moment of silence to fall over the group.

Dumbledore chuckled softly, finally. “I think Miss Weasley is correct in saying that Harry’s sanity is still intact; he is quite emotional, but not mad. I also would not wish to put the staff of St. Mungo’s at risk by putting Harry unwillingly into their care.”

“But sir,” Snape replied plaintively, “how will we control him. You cannot simply allow him to do whatever he wishes!”

“Indeed, Severus. I believe the how is what we are attempting to decide at the moment.”

“May we talk to him when he wakes?” Hermione interjected meekly, revealing her presence to Harry for the first time.

“A calming potion is in order before anyone speaks with him, to assist him in controlling his temper. After that, however, I will make certain that you are the first to see him. He needs his friends in a time like this.”

How nice, Harry thought sarcastically. Everyone I know gathering together to decide my fate. He wondered if there was any way for him to escape before they came in. But with them standing right outside the door, he knew almost without consideration that it was impossible.

He heard no more conversation, and two minutes later Snape and Dumbledore entered, Snape carrying a vial of some potion. Harry glared at them.

“Sure you don’t want to lock me up in St. Mungo’s?” he asked sarcastically. “Why didn’t you think of it years ago? Everyone knows I’m just a crazy freak, right?” he asked rhetorically, with a special glare reserved for Snape. Having made his little speech, he then noticed that both Dumbledore and Snape looked surprised, though whether it was that he was awake or because he had heard their entire conversation he was not certain.

Within a minute they had both recovered, though. Of course, he could have expected no less, with their shared ability to keep their equilibrium in any situation, or at least regain it quickly. Absently he wondered if Dumbledore had once been a spy, in his youth, or if there were something else that the two shared in common.

“Drink this,” Snape ordered stiffly, holding out the potion. Harry stared at him for a moment, then burst out in a humorless laugh. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to drink anything you give me, especially now?”

“Don’t be absurd, Potter, this is for your own good as much as ours. It’s a simple Calming Draught.”

“Funny, that’s what I was told the last potion I took was.” He allowed his voice to take on a lecturing tone that he knew would infuriate his potions professor. “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.”

“Need you be so paranoid, Potter?!”

“Well, let’s see. A dark lord has wanted me dead for fifteen out of my sixteen years, the wizarding world still seems to be deciding whether I’m a hero, the next ‘Dark Lord-in-training,’ or simply insane, and not five minutes ago I heard you expressing a sincere interest in locking me up in St. Mungo’s. Not to mention that I have been betrayed by people I thought I could trust no fewer than three times in the past two weeks. You tell me—should I be paranoid?”

Suddenly, he felt his body stiffen. All he could do was move his eyes. He darted them to the left and saw Albus Dumbledore standing over him, vial in hand.

“Can you hear yourself, Harry? You’re getting yourself worked up again, and once you are we can’t stop you. If you don’t let us help you, you’re going to end up doing something you’ll regret.”

“Leave… me… alone…” he managed through stiff but not quite immobile muscles. Dumbledore didn’t respond; he just upended the vial into Harry’s mouth. The angle of his head assured that he couldn’t spit it back out.

Harry refused to swallow. Snape appeared on his other side and pinched his nose closed. He began to get lightheaded from lack of air, and Snape ran his hand along Harry’s throat once, causing his muscles to jump into action against his will. He felt the potion slither into his stomach, and then the Body Bind was gone. He began to cough, and nearly managed to regurgitate the contents of his stomach when the potion kicked in and his muscles relaxed. He fell back against the pillow, and heard both wizards breathe sighs of relief.

“Your friends want to see you, Harry,” said Dumbledore with a relieved smile. “Shall I let them in?” Harry shrugged apathetically, lacking the energy to do anything else, and Dumbledore beamed. “I’ll just go tell them to come right in.” He walked from the room, and Snape followed with a short glance over his shoulder at Harry. He tried to interpret the expression that he had seen on Snape’s face, but other than the fact that it had been lacking its usual sneer, he hadn’t seen enough to decide what emotion, if any, the bitter man had been experiencing.

Then Hermione, Ron, and Ginny bounced into the room. Actually, they all seemed subdued, Ginny most of all, but they were obviously trying to act cheerful.

“Professor Dumbledore said you’d been hit by two stunners, Harry; are you alright?” Hermione jumped straight to the point. Harry shrugged in response.

“Yeah mate, what happened?!” blurted Ron, and he was immediately hit by an elbow from Hermione at the same time as Ginny stepped on his foot. Harry managed a half smile at their antics.

“Harry?” Ginny called his name, worried that he had yet to give a vocal response. Harry sighed heavily.

“’m fine,” he mumbled.

Hermione launched into a description of what she had learned about wandless magic to fill the silence. From what she said, it was rare that magic could be properly focused without a wand, and the results of unfocused magic could be disastrous once a witch or wizard had entered adolescence and had full control over their magic. This as apparently why most wandless magic was entirely accidental, and more common among children.

When the silence fell, Harry looked away to hide the fact that his eyes were watering. Why couldn’t he be normal, and just worry about stupid things like what wandless magic was or whether his favorite quidditch team would win this year? And better yet, why couldn’t the three standing by his bedside be normal? Turning back to face them, he forced himself to be convincing.

“’m sorry, guys, but I’m tired and I have a headache from those stunners… Could you find something fun to do around this dusty old house, for me?”

“Sure mate,” answered Ron, and the three of them left reluctantly. Harry, however, barely got a moment to himself before Remus entered.

The werewolf looked weary and worried. He immediately took a seat on the edge of Harry’s bed and just watched him, not saying a word. Harry avoided meeting his gaze, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead.

Finally, Lupin sighed. “Sometimes I like to imagine that your life would have been better if your parents had lived to help you through it. The worst part of it is that I know that even if Peter hadn’t betrayed you and Lily and James, Voldemort would have still been around, hurting others and possibly you three as well. So I can’t even just wish that they were still here.” He paused. “Everything is so messed up—“

“I’m still mad at you for tricking me,” Harry informed him dully, turning his head with an effort to looka t the man’s face. “Why couldn’t you have just left me at Privet Drive? None of you can ‘fix’ me; I’m unfixable. I’ll never be the person you all want me to be.”

Remus was obviously hurt by his words, and attempted to defend their motives. “We just want you to be whole, Harry. We want you to have the life you deserve.”

“Maybe this is the life I deserve,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, you can’t manipulate me into wholeness. None of you seems to understand that this isn’t something you can fix—and I’m not sure I want you to, if it means I have to try to be someone I’m not.”

“What can we do?” Remus asked desperately.

“You could stop trying to ‘help’ me.” He paused. “Why do you need to do anything anyway? You’re not my parents.”

“We care about you, Harry. We can’t stand to see you destroying yourself this way.”

Harry began to try to sit up, but his arms shook so much at the attempted effort that he quickly gave up. He gave a short, choking laugh that bore a striking resemblance to a sob. “I can’t even sit up!”

Remus held out his hand to offer Harry the help that he needed, but Harry just shook his head, barking another short choke of laughter. “Don’t you see? You win. You all win. I can’t hurt myself, or anyone else. I can’t even sit up.” He gave a true sob this time, but held himself back from releasing his emotions completely. “You win. You win. Just leave me alone, please, leave me alone.”

Leave him alone they did. He stared apathetically at the ceiling for hours, then let Madam Pomfrey help him to a sitting position and feed him an entire bowl of soup. At the end of his meal Snape appeared with a vial and Harry took the potion without protest, though his hands shook so much that Madam Pomfrey nearly took it from him to do it for him. He stared at the ceiling for several more hours, and he didn’t bother to wipe the wetness from his cheeks before rolling onto his side and falling asleep.

Despite the fact that he was so ‘relaxed,’ Harry found it hard to sleep. He slipped in and out of consciousness, usually not waking enough to do anything but wonder why he was finding it so difficult to stay asleep. Until his eyes fluttered open to glimpse Snape standing near his door. Harry could barely see the outline of his frame in the light of the waning moon, but then the light caught his face to reveal what looked like—concern? Sadness?

“Professor?” he rasped, startling Snape out of his reverie. “What?”

“Nothing, Potter,” he replied expressionlessly. “Nothing at all.” And the dark man turned and swept from the room.

Once he had truly awoken in the morning, Harry was given precious few minutes to stare at the ceiling before Remus entered with a bowl full of hot cereal. Hungry and still too tired and weak to do it himself, Harry let the werewolf feed him despite his embarrassment.

When Snape entered with yet another vial of the Calming Draught, though, he sank back into the pillow as if trying to make himself one with the bed. He waited until Snape had left as quickly as he had come, and then turned back to Lupin to see him holding out the Calming Draught with an apologetic expression on his face.

He shrank back further, and appealed to Lupin’s sentimental side. “Please don’t make me take any more, Moony. I can’t think, I can’t move, I can’t even feed myself! Please, Moony, I promise, I’ll be good. I can keep control, and I’ll do whatever you ask me to do!”

But Remus was shaking his head nonetheless. “Don’t ask me this, Harry,” he pleaded. “It’s not my decision. I know you hate it; I do too. But it’s only temporary, so that you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else.” He held the vial out to Harry again, but upon seeing how the younger wizard’s arm shook as he reached for it, he said, “Maybe I’d better do it.”

Harry knew what they were doing. Every time they made certain that his new dose overlapped at least slightly with the one before it. That way he never had enough energy to put up a real fight like he had the first time. Knowing what was happening didn’t make him feel any better, though; on the contrary, he was beginning to wonder how much difference it would make if he were in St. Mungo’s.

Then Remus left and his friends entered, and that train of thought went temporarily from his head. He smiled wanly and made a half-hearted effort to sit up, before laying back in disgust. Ron rushed over to help him but he sighed and shook his head. Already the new dose was taking effect and making him even weaker, at least temporarily.

“Sorry… they’ve got me so drugged up…” he whispered, and held out his hand to show them how it shook. Both Hermione and Ginny gasped, and Ron looked faintly sick. “Can… can you guys help me with something?”

“Sure mate!” Ron answered enthusiastically, and Ginny nodded quickly in agreement. Hermione, however, seemed a bit more hesitant; it was almost as if she suspected she knew what he was about to ask. He watched her for a moment, then decided that he would have to make do with Ginny and Ron’s help in convincing her.

“Can you three making an antidote to the Calming Draught for me?” he looked at Hermione steadily through this request, knowing that she would be the one to have to do the work.

“Oh, Harry,” she sighed unhappily. “I want to help you, but we can’t do that!”

Harry felt himself getting mildly angry, and knew that if he weren’t under the influence of the Calming Draught he would be furious. His voice, however, came out sounding whiny more than anything. “You don’t understand… I can’t think, and I can’t move… I just need to show the adults that I can control myself without being drugged up, but they won’t give me a chance!” He sank back into the pillow in exhaustion after getting all of this out quickly.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione certainly didn’t look happy, especially considering both Ginny and Ron looked decidedly displeased with her answer. “But you have to understand, we’ve only learned one variant of the Calming Draught, and never the antidote. There’s a reason for that—there are many, many variations of the Calming Draught, and as many antidotes. The wrong antidote can have disastrous results, which is why everyone just waits for a Calming Draught to wear off, if they didn’t want it in the first place.”

“Oh,” replied Harry lamely, his anger evaporating in an instant, to be replaced only by helplessness. That was his one hope for getting gout of this situation. He blinked quickly to force back the tears that were prickling warningly at the backs of his eyes. “They really have won,” he whispered under his breath.

Ginny stepped closer to his bed and comforted him quietly. “It’ll be okay, Harry. They won’t keep you like this much longer, you’ll see.” He grasped her hand like a lifeline and she stroked his comfortingly.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears. “I can’t live like this, I just can’t,” he said.

Hermione finally spoke again. “I’m going to speak to Professor Snape the next time I see him. He’s obviously either ignoring your size or overestimating it, which means he’s giving you a much larger dose than you could possibly need. A Calming Draught is supposed to make you relax, not practically paralyze you.”

“Thanks, ‘mione,” he managed, though he could hear himself slur ever so slightly.

Obviously the others could tell that he was exhausted, but didn’t want to abandon him. Finally, Ginny had an idea. “Hey, Hermione, tell us a muggle pixie tale!” Harry opened his eyes long enough to see the blank expression on Hermione’s face, and laughed lightly.

“I think she means… a fairy tale, ‘mione,” he murmured just loud enough for the others to hear.

“Oh! Good idea, Ginny! Hmm…” Then she laughed. “I’ll tell you a story to show you what my impression of witches was.” She immediately launched into the story of Hansel and Gretel.

Somewhere near the beginning Harry began to drift in and out of consciousness. The story began to mutate—it wasn’t Hansel and Gretel being led out into the forest, it was he and Dudley, being kicked out because Harry was a freak. When they met the witch, she was none other than Umbridge, who proceeded to begin fattening Dudley up and letting him play video games while forcing Harry to do chores and write “I will not write lies,” over and over again. Then Voldemort showed up and tried to shove Harry into the furnace in order to eat him. Harry screamed and woke up sweating profusely under the multitude of covers, alone in his room as his friends had apparently left after he fell asleep.

He threw off the covers as best he could, which turned out to be not so well. He couldn’t believe how heavy they felt, as if they had weights embedded in them. Finally, though, he extracted himself from the cocoon he had been buried in, only to find that he was slightly chilly due to his dampened skin. He glared at the covers but couldn’t bring himself to attempt to bury himself within them again. He shivered a little but decided to stick it out.

The door creaked open and a complete stranger entered. Harry wrinkled his forehead. He thought he knew everyone who was staying in Grimmauld Place, and especially anyone who would be likely to visit him while he was drugged up on Calming Draughts.

“Hello! I’m Gordon,” the man introduced himself with a smile. He was rather tall, taller even than Ron, with short brown hair in a neat but unmemorable haircut, and deep chocolate brown eyes. He seemed cheerful enough but no recognition of who Harry was shown on his face.

Harry frowned. “Are you lost?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” he responded with a chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“Harry…” he answered slowly, suspicious. He watched with narrowed eyes, but never saw the customary flick of the man’s eyes to his forehead. “Is there something you need?” He was feeling unusually vulnerable, with no access to his wand (which had disappeared at some point during his many periods of unconsciousness) and the weakness he was quickly becoming accustomed to but did not appreciate any more.

“Just to talk to you. You have quite a few people worried about you, do you know that?”

Harry sighed. “Don’t waste your time.”

Gordon chuckled and shook his head. “I was told you would be a tough egg to crack. But I can be patient.” Harry just watched him silently. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Are you kidding me?” He didn’t have the energy just now to carry on a long conversation with a stranger who wanted to pretend like he didn’t know who Harry Potter was.

“No, I’m not kidding,” responded the man in the most serious tone yet. “But I can tell you about myself first if you’d like.” Harry shrugged, which the man apparently took as acquiescence.

“Let’s see. I’m an adolescent psychologist, because I really like working with teens. Even if you are as a group quite suspicious of psychologists.” He winked. “But to take this job I had to agree to drop everything and move in here,” he waved at the house vaguely, “wherever here is, in order to see you. In other words, I’m very serious about doing whatever I can to help you in whatever you need help about. Oh, and that’s something else you should know—aside from telling me that your first name is Harry and that you were a teen, I knew nothing about you before I came here, and I won’t know anything except what you choose to tell me. That’s how I work.”

Harry was beginning to get a strange suspicion… but they wouldn’t have done that, would they have? He decided to test his theory. He rolled over on his side to get a better view of the man without having to crane his neck, and said, “Well, I’m sorry you got dragged into this, but… I’m not sure there’s anything you can do to help me, unless you know of a quick way to get rid of Voldemort…” Nothing. Not a flinch from the man, only a look of vague confusion.

“What is Voldemort?”

“Are you a muggle?” exclaimed Harry, truly surprised.

Gordon frowned. “Hey, now, there’s no need to insult. And anyway, what does mu—“ He paused midsentence. “Oh, yeah, I seem to remember Albus saying something about this… That’s what you call people like me who can’t use magic, huh?”

Harry nodded slowly. “So you are a muggle.” Then he added, “No offense intended.”

Gordon didn’t appear to need the apology, as he was smiling and nodding already. “Yes, I am indeed a muggle. Can’t do a scrap of magic.”

Harry frowned. “And how exactly do they think you can help me?”

“I got the impression that they thought you needed someone with no biases to talk to.”

Harry suddenly felt a flush of gratitude. He couldn’t have put words to it, but there was a yearning in him to be able to talk to someone who didn’t think of him as a hero—there always had been. If he chose, this man could know him as Harry, just Harry. Not Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, hero of the wizarding world, but the confused 16-year-old that was the real Harry.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “And you won’t find out anything from anyone else about me?”

Gordon shook his head firmly. “I’ve made everyone in the house promise not to tell me a thing about you. We can talk about anything else, but nothing that borders on you.”

Harry frowned. “Did Professor Dumbledore say anything about a prophecy? I don’t know if I can tell you… I don’t want him to have to Obliviate you…”

Gordon jumped. “I don’t think I want that either… Sounds rather painful.”

Harry laughed weakly, and then shook his head. “No… that just means taking parts of your memory away…” He frowned at how quiet his voice was. “Sorry,” he nearly whispered. “They’ve given me so much Calming Draught…” He sighed.

As if responding to Harry’s comment, Snape suddenly burst into the room. He scowled at the presence of the muggle and pointed him to the door, then moved to Harry’s bedside immediately. He held out a vial of what was obviously the Calming Draught (whose appearance and smell Harry now knew intimately). “Time for your next dose,” he said gruffly.

Nothing could be worse than this, even the extremely degrading experience of pleading with his most hated teacher. “Professor Snape, please…” He said, weakly trying to push the potion away. “I can barely move… it’s hard to think… There has to be some better way…”

Snape sneered. “It is not my fault, Potter, that you couldn’t control yourself. Now you are reaping the consequences of your actions.” He pushed the potion forward firmly. “You will drink this voluntarily, or I will force-feed it to you.”

Knowing that he didn’t have the energy for any kind of protest, he reached out for the vial, focusing all his efforts on keeping his hands steady. The result was pitiful at best, but Snape didn’t want to feed Harry any more than Harry wanted to be fed by him, so he let him take the glass container despite the fact that the liquid was nearly sloshing out, even though it was only half full. He poured it down his throat as quickly as he could to hide his weakness, then weakly held out the vial for Snape to take.

“I also need to speak with you regarding your O.W.L. results. A me—“

Harry interrupted him weakly, already feeling that in a moment he would be unable to even speak comprehensibly. “’aven’ read ‘em,” he slurred.

“You haven’t read your own O.W.L. results yet?” Snape responded incredulously. “I know you care little for the school or its rules, but I was certain that know-it-all—“

“Forgot…” He yawned reflexively. “’m tired…”

“How much do you weigh, Potter?” Snape asked suspiciously. Without waiting for an answer from the nearly unconscious teen, he cast a spell and then gaped at whatever he saw. “You said those muggles fed you sometimes, Potter!” he spat out, obviously upset. Then he swore under his breath. “Of course the stupid know-it-all had to be right.” He changed his voice to imitate Hermione’s higher pitched voice, “You’re giving him too large a dose, Professor Snape. He’s obviously far under the average weight for someone his age!” He swore again. “Just relax and don’t fight it, Potter, and I’ll go brew the antidote.”

In which Harry steps onto the path toward healing.

Our lives improve only when we take chances - and the first and most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves.

Walter Anderson

At their first true meeting, Gordon asked him to promise not to tell lies. As he put it, “You needn’t tell me anything you don’t want to, but I want to treat you as an adult and that requires that I be able to trust you to tell the truth when you do speak.” Harry agreed, of course. He was simply relieved that the psychologist did not seem to be preparing to drag every secret Harry ever had out of him.

Harry had to sift carefully through his mind to decide what to say.

“I don’t think that *anyone* really knows me,” he admitted at the beginning.

Gordon smiled encouragingly. “Why is that, Harry?”

“We-ell… My aunt and uncle and cousin—they’re the ones I grew up with, after my parents were killed—they never really even tried to know me. They thought I was a freak, you know, because of my magic.” Gordon scowled at this.

“You know that’s not true, though, right? You’re not a freak, whether you’re a wizard or not.”

Harry sighed. “I’ll grant that they had no idea what they were talking about, but I *am* sort of a freak…” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t want to talk about this!” He quickly continued with what he had been planning to say, “They couldn’t tell the neighbors that I was a freak, you know, so they came up with the most hilarious story. According to them, I don’t go to Hogwarts, I go to St. Brutus’ Centre for the Treatment of Incurably Criminal Boys. How’s that for a mouthful?” he laughed, though even he could hear it was a bit forced.

“Did they even tell that to your friends and their parents?” Gordon asked with a frown.

Harry frowned. “Friends? I never had any friends, at least not before I got to Hogwarts. Dudley scared off anyone who might have been willing to be friends with me, though even that wasn’t many kids.”

“Dudley?”

“My massively overweight cousin. He’s a born bully, and his favorite activity when we were younger was ‘Harry hunting,’” replied Harry. “But you don’t want to hear about the Dursleys,” he ended the topic quickly, ignoring the fact that Gordon was opening his mouth to say something. “So, when I was eleven I went to Hogwarts, but what I didn’t know was that I was—am—a celebrity in the wizarding world. I’d rather not talk about why—it’s stupid, really,” he added quickly.

Gordon nodded encouragingly, allowing Harry to control the conversation. Harry almost sighed in relief that he was not being forced to talk about things—like the Dursleys—that he didn’t want to even think about. “The point is, everyone had preconceptions about me. We have houses at Hogwarts, and we get sorted into them based on personality, more or less. Gryffindor is for the courageous, Ravenclaw for the intelligent, Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin for the cunning. There’s a huge rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, which is odd, because I almost got sorted into Slytherin, and then I told the Sorting Hat ‘no’ and it sorted me into Gryffindor.”

“Why didn’t you want to be sorted into Slytherin?”

“Well, I had just been told that every wizard that ever went bad was from Slytherin. Which was a lie, but still, a great many dark wizards come from Slytherin… including Voldemort.” He saw Gordon’s blank look, and supplied, “The current Dark Lord, who’s after my head at the moment.” The psychologist looked surprised for a moment, but managed to recover.

“I see… Do you wish you had been sorted into Slytherin, or are you happy in Gryffindor?”

Harry sighed. “That’s a complicated question… I’m glad that I’m in Gryffindor, because I’m much safer there, and I have made some really good friends. Still, though, being sorted into Gryffindor just made some people that their preconceptions of me were confirmed. For example, Snape is the head of Slytherin house, and he hates me because he thinks I’m a clone of my father… they had a rivalry in school, and played a lot of stupid and sometimes dangerous pranks on one another.

“Sometimes, though, I don’t really feel like I fit in. I *am* brave, or foolhardy as Snape likes to call it, but…” Suddenly Harry wondered why he was telling Gordon all of this. It was nice to talk about it, but did he really want anyone to know this much about him?

“But what, Harry?” Gordon asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Nothing,” Harry replied, shaking his head. “Nothing… Gryffindor is my house.” Gordon looked disappointed, but let the topic slip.

“Well, we’ve made a great start today,” the psychologist said encouragingly, wiping all traces of discontent from his face and smiling. Harry smiled hesitantly back at him. Gordon sighed at his hesitancy. “Harry, I don’t want you to feel pressured… I’m here to be a listening ear and to help you, not to make your life more difficult.”

Harry frowned. “I’m not used to talking about myself, or my feelings. I don’t know why Dumbledore made you come all this way…”

Gordon laughed lightly. “I’ll tell you a secret, Harry.” He leaned forward with a mischievous expression on his face . “Maybe we’re just trying to make more business for ourselves, but I and many other psychologists agree that just about *everyone* could do with at least a few meetings with a good psychologist. Everyone has their problems; it’s just that some are more obvious to others.” He leaned back and smiled. “So that means your headmaster could probably use a few visits with me as well, but *you* get my wonderful company instead. And I think I’m glad, because that is one *strange* old man!” He winked, and Harry burst out laughing.

“He is odd, isn’t he?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Gordon deadpanned. Then the elder man stood to his feet. “Okay, Harry… is it okay if I meet you here at the same time tomorrow?” Harry nodded, slightly more at ease after laughing with the man a bit. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you later, sir!”

Suddenly Gordon spun in place and fixed Harry with a glare. The young wizard quailed at his glare. “What did you call me?” the psychologist asked seriously.

“Uh… sir?” Harry asked.

“That’s what I thought,” Gordon said. “Now, other than asking that you always tell the truth, I only have a single rule: *don’t* call me sir!”

Harry nodded and said, “Yes, si—Sorry, si—Oh, Merlin…”

Gordon burst out laughing. “You looked so scared! Take it easy, kid, I was just messing with you… Though I’d rather you didn’t call me sir. Makes me feel old, you know.” Then he gave Harry an incredulous look. “’Merlin’?”

Harry smiled nervously. “It’s a wizard thing I’ve picked up.” Then he added, “Sorry,” just in case the elder man was bothered.

Gordon frowned slightly. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Harry. That’s part of who you are!” Harry nodded. “Well, okay, I’m really leaving now. Perhaps I’ll see you around the house, but if not, I will certainly see you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Gordon,” Harry called, and then shook his head at the psychologist’s antics.

Harry spent a great deal of the time between that meeting at the next considering the unusual man that was Gordon. After much consideration, he decided he liked him, even if he was still a little nervous in his presence. He actually wanted to please the man, and if opening up would do that, then maybe he would—at least a little.

The next day, Harry was waiting in his room for Gordon, who was supposed to arrive in the next few minutes. The door opened, and Gordon came in, shutting the door quickly behind him and then putting his ear to the door without looking at Harry. A moment later he put his back to the door and breathed a sigh of relief, then started when he saw Harry sitting quietly on his bed.

“Well hello Harry! Fancy meeting you here!” Harry just shook his head in disbelief, wondering if it was possible that he was more mature than the man in front of him. He reminded him a bit of the twins… or Sirius. This thought hit Harry hard, as he hadn’t thought of his lost godfather in several days. He completely missed whatever Gordon said next.

“Harry… Harry?” At some point Gordon had made his way toward Harry and was now standing in front of him, looking worried. Harry tried to smile up at the man but it was a mostly failed attempt, he knew. Not only had his guilt at causing his godfather’s death returned, but he also felt he had betrayed him by not having thought of him for so long.

“What happened there?” Gordon asked, concerned. “I lost you completely.”

“Sorry… I was just—You just—You reminded me of my godfather, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Gordon’s face shared a bit of the pain that Harry was sure shown on his own. He indicated a space next to Harry on the bed and asked softly, “May I?” Harry nodded, and the psychologist sat down next to him, leaning forward on his knees and staring in front of him. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Harry just shook his head. “Not really,” he muttered. “Do I—do I have to?”

Gordon looked over at him, serious. “Hey, I said at the beginning that you don’t have to talk about anything that you don’t want to talk about. In fact, we don’t have to talk about anything today, if you’re not up for it.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders, but appreciated that Gordon wasn’t pushing him to speak.

Gordon had gone back to staring in front of him, just as Harry was doing, and they simply sat in silence. Harry had no idea how long they had been sitting there when he sighed.

“I just… I miss him so much sometimes, you know?” Harry said finally, his voice strained with the emotion in it.

“Absolutely,” was the quiet response. “This was his house, wasn’t it?” All Harry could do was nod. “It must be really hard to stay here.”

“He hated it here,” Harry said, anger creeping into his voice. “They made him stay here, and now they’re making me stay here. I *told* them that I didn’t want to come, I would have even stayed at the Dursleys, but they just brought me anyway.”

“They were worried about you, Harry,” replied Gordon softly. “They didn’t want you to be alone, and from what little you’ve told me, your ‘family’ wasn’t going to give you much support.”

Harry raised his voice slightly. “I don’t need help… I don’t *want* help! Why couldn’t they just leave me alone?”

“It’s always hard to accept help, Harry, and sometimes people who care about you have to make decisions about you that you won’t always like—“

“I’m tired of it!” Harry exclaimed. “Nobody even consults me—how can they know what is good for me? They don’t even *know* me!”

“What makes you say that?” Gordon still kept his voice low and calm, in contrast to Harry’s increasing volume.

Harry was angry, but even he could see that he wasn’t going to win this argument, and he didn’t want to lose. Instead, he muttered angrily, “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Alright,” Gordon agreed amiably, though Harry thought he had caught a flash of disappointment cross the man’s face. “Would you like to talk about anything else, or would you like to adjourn until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” he muttered, without looking up.

“Okay… I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Harry.”

Harry muttered some incoherent, noncommittal response and waited impatiently for the psychologist to leave. When he had, he spent several long minutes lying on his bed before angrily wiping his face and resolving to pretend that nothing had happened. He wasn’t sure, though, that he wanted another meeting with Gordon, and the thought that he probably had several more weeks of this was painful at best.

Gordon’s entrance was not nearly so dramatic the next day. He knocked and then waited patiently until Harry reluctantly told him he could come in, and then took a seat in his usual chair across from Harry.

“Hello, Harry,” he greeted.

“’lo,” muttered Harry in return. He shifted uncomfortably in place without looking up from the floor, waiting for the psychologist to start their session. They sat for long moments before Gordon finally said anything.

“Are you angry at me, Harry?” Gordon asked, in a tone that made it sound as though he were asking about the weather.

“No,” responded Harry angrily.

Gordon frowned. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, since you promised not to lie to me. You’re angry at me because I sided with the adults, aren’t you?”

Harry scowled but nodded.

“So now you’re going to shut me out just like you shut them out?”

“Maybe.”

“You know, I only sided with the adults in theory. I was pointing out that they seem to care and that it is possible that they could choose to do something that you wouldn’t like.”

“And the difference is…?”

“The difference is that I don’t even know what they did, and for all I know I don’t agree.” Silence. “Will you at least tell me what they have done, that has you so angry? You already told me about them making you come here, but that doesn’t seem like it’s all.”

He most certainly wasn’t telling him anything about his questioning after he had arrived at Grimmauld Place, because that would require admitting the abuse to another person. If he hadn’t already been told by the adults anyway. “What do you know?”

“Only what you’ve told me. I’ve told the adults that I want to hear things from your perspective. If I feel the need to get their perspective, I’ll make sure you’re there,” Gordon insisted.

“How do I know that you’re telling the truth?”

Gordon looked hurt, and paused for a moment, apparently to gather his thoughts. “Well, if you don’t trust me, then I suppose you don’t.” He stopped, and then continued, “But would it really hurt anything to tell me? At worst I already know, and at best I’ll at least know what’s going on.”

Harry sighed. “Fine,” he responded, knowing that he was being petulant but finding it hard to care. “Here’s one that should be near and dear to your heart,” he began sarcastically. “They’re drugging me. They forced a Calming Draught down my throat the first time completely against my will, and haven’t stopped giving it to me except to get it out of my system after Snape’s mistake.”

“Snape’s mistake?” questioned Gordon calmly, refusing to rise to Harry’s bait.

“Yeah, my favorite professor, you know… He picked too high a dose of the Calming Draught for me at first, probably on purpose. You saw how I was, the first time you met me. That was when he figured out what he had done, though Hermione had to do research of her own and then confront him to get him to realize. So then he realized he needed to give me the antidote, but he came back with *two* potions…”

Harry was drifting in and out of unconsciousness when Snape returned. Some part of his brain recognized that with each dose of the Calming Draught he had been getting worse, which must have been the cause of Snape’s worrying. If he had been more conscious he might have smirked at the thought of Snape actually being concerned about the ‘Gryffindor Golden Boy.’

He gladly took the antidote, despite its bitter taste, and felt his strength returning almost immediately. He smiled and started to try to sit up, but Snape pushed him back quickly. “One more, Potter,” he said, and held out the potion this time to allow Harry to feed himself. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“What is it?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Must you be difficult? Just take it—we need the Calming Draught out of your system.”

“What, so you can feed me more?” he snapped. “Do you really think I’m going to just let you drug me up again?”

“We are not ‘drugging’ you, Potter, we are helping you. Now just take the potion like a good little Gryffindor,” Snape sneered.

Feeling defiant with his new energy, Harry sneered right back. “What if I’m not such a good little Gryffindor?”

Shaking with rage, he shoved the vial he was still holding in Harry’s direction. “Drink it now or I will force feed it to you.”

Harry crossed his eyes, glowering at his hated professor. “What is it?”

“That’s it,” growled the dark professor. Suddenly he loomed over Harry’s still supine form, his wand in his hand. After a moment of staring down his wand at Harry as if considering what hex he might get away with casting on the Boy-Who-Lived, he seemed to reconsider and stowed his wand away. Then he reached down and pinched Harry’s nose as he had before, using his leverage and the fact that Harry had still not recovered most of his strength to keep Harry down.

In a strangely familiar scene, Harry fought to remove the man’s hand from his nose but failed miserably, and soon had to open his mouth in order to get some air. The bitter and still hot liquid was being poured down his throat now, and his head was tilted back so that there was no good way for him to avoid swallowing it. Finally, he did just that.

“What was it?” he gasped out finally.

A sinister smirk snuck onto Snape’s face. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what do you get when you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Harry felt his eyes nearly popping out of his head as he answered in a thready whisper, “Draught of Living Death?”

“One point to Harry Potter,” sneered Snape, turning to leave even as the potion dragged Harry far below the level of consciousness.

“And then after that he left me asleep for three days! He claimed that he needed to ‘make sure the Calming Draught was out of my system,’ but I think he just wanted to get me out of his way for as long as possible.”

To Harry’s surprise, he saw that Gordon appeared to be getting angry on his behalf. He had assumed that Gordon would at least try to excuse the adult’s behavior. “You hadn’t hurt yourself or anyone else before they began giving it to you?” he confirmed.

Harry shook his head. “I didn’t hurt myself, and I accidentally reflected a stunner back at Madam Pomfrey after she tried to stun me. Which she did because I had refused to drink a sleeping potion.”

Gordon’s voice was tight with controlled anger. “I think this is an example of adults convincing themselves that they are doing the right thing but *greatly* overreacting. I’m sorry, Harry, but I certainly understand why you are feeling betrayed.” He visibly calmed himself. “Which of the adults is involved in this?”

Harry frowned. “Snape and Dumbledore, for sure… Presumably Madam Pomfrey—she’s the school nurse. Other than that… well, Remus definitely knew and didn’t do anything about it.” He scowled at this.

Gordon nodded. “Okay… We will definitely be having talks with them.”

“We?”

Gordon smiled patiently. “I told you I wouldn’t talk to them about anything relating to you without you present. Although I expect you to be doing quite a bit of talking—you have said you want to be treated like an adult, and sometimes that means having these conversations.”

“Well… It’s not so bad now; they’ve got me on a very mild dose,” he stalled, not certain that he was willing to have any one of those conversations just yet.

“I can recognize a stalling tactic when I hear one, you know…” Gordon grinned.

Harry sighed. “I don’t have anything to say to them, except that they are stupid and I don’t trust them.”

“Well, those are valid feelings that you can certainly express to them, and perhaps they can shed some light on what they were thinking.” Gordon hurried to continue when he saw Harry getting upset at his apparently renewed defense of the adults. “I don’t think anything could excuse their treatment of you, Harry. However, perhaps they can say something that will make it possible for you to eventually forgive them.” Harry scowled, but nodded in recognition of the idea.

“Are there any adults that you *do* trust, Harry?” Gordon leaned forward slightly, waiting for Harry’s answer.

“Erm… Mr. Weasley, I suppose… I don’t really see him very much, but he’s nice. It’s weird, though. He says that he thinks of me as another son, but he’s *Ron’s* dad.” Then, he added for clarification, “Ron’s my best friend.”

Gordon nodded. “I could see how that would be a bit strange. But still, that’s nice that he treats you like another son!”

Harry nodded in earnest, his mood lifting slightly. “Yeah, he was really patient with me the day that I accidentally locked the door to my room.” Gordon gave him a strange look. “Oh, I did it magically… without a wand, which is a bit odd, even for a wizard. Mr. Weasley was the one who woke me up from my nap, and we talked about… well, about stuff.”

Gordon smiled. “I’m glad you’ve talked to an adult about some things. Even if you’ve had some really bad experiences, I promise we’re not all bad.” He winked. Then he began to stand. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about today? Better yet, might you be willing to talk to me tomorrow, if I leave now, or is there something we still need to work out?”

Harry sighed. “I’ll talk to you, tomorrow.” He wasn’t quite sure what he thought about the man, but he was sure that his opinion was better now than it had been at the beginning of their talk.

“Good,” said Gordon, giving one of his more ‘serious’ smiles. “I’m glad you haven’t given up all hope in me.”

Harry shook his head. “See you tomorrow, Gordon.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow!”

Harry had a sudden yearning to speak with Mr. Weasley again, the way that they had spoken that night. Even Sirius had never been able to give him that much of a feeling of having a father, since he was too busy to engage in many heart-to-heart talks. Then again, so was Mr. Weasley. Harry realized that it was quite possible that he wouldn’t get another talk with Mr. Weasley for quite some time, especially since he didn’t want to take away from the man’s time with his family, and therefore wouldn’t seek him out. He moped around the house a bit before stuffing these feelings to the back of his mind and ignoring them to the best of his ability. He’d never struggled with this before and he wouldn’t struggle with it now.

Harry left the door open for Gordon the next day so that he wouldn’t have to knock. He was also trying to show the man that he was not quite so angry anymore. Gordon positively beamed when he saw the door open and hurried into the room and closed it behind him before toning down his reaction a bit.

“Hello, Harry!” he greeted cheerily.

Harry had to suppress a laugh at Gordon, not for the first time. “Hi, Gordon.”

“How are you?”

Harry shrugged. “Same as always, pretty much. I was just working on a potion with Hermione. She’s my other best friend from Hogwarts.”

“A potion? Is that something you do for fun, or is that a school subject?”

“We-ell… it is most certainly only a school subject when Snape is involved, because Snape and fun cannot occur within the same *paragraph* much less the same sentence. But since I’ve now managed to take the Snape out of Potions, it has been much better.”

“What do you mean, take the Snape out of Potions? Is he not teaching Potions anymore?”

Harry grinned. “Well, he’s still teaching Potions… I’m just not taking it with him. He came to talk to me a few days ago about my O.W.L. results. That was the original reason he came to see me the day he brewed the antidote, before he realized that I was overdosed on Calming Draught and hadn’t had a coherent moment in which to look at my grades.” He saw Gordon’s confused expression. “What?”

“’Owl results’?” Gordon asked, confused.

Harry chuckled. “Sometimes I forget you’re not a wizard.” Harry racked his brain for the muggle equivalent of O.W.L.s, then remembered that it was almost too easy. “I think they’re like O levels?”

“Oh!” Gordon’s face registered understanding. “How did you do?”

“Not so badly,” replied Harry modestly. “I got the highest grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts in almost 150 years.”

Gordon smiled at Harry’s ‘modesty’. “That’s incredible, Harry! Congratulations!”

Harry nodded, and then his happiness subsided a bit. “Snape wanted to talk to me about my Potions grade, though.”

“Why? Did you fail?” Gordon’s expression made it clear that he thought this impossible.

Harry shook his head. “No, actually, I did much better than I thought I would… I got an E, after he kept giving me Ps and Ds!” He noticed the expression on Gordon’s face and this time didn’t need to ask about the source of the confusion. “Oh… E stands for Exceeds Expectations, which is the second highest grade you can get. O, for Outstanding, is the highest, and then E, and then A for Acceptable, which is the last passing grade. Then there’s P for Poor and D for Dreadful. Fred and George claim that there is also a T for Troll, but considering they are worst practical jokers Hogwarts has seen in many years, I think I would be safe in doubting them.” He finished his long explanation, then added, “Oh, yeah, Fred and George are twins, two of Ron’s older brothers. He’s the sixth of seven children; Ginny is the youngest and the only girl.”

Gordon took all this information in slowly, then finally looked confused once again. “But I don’t understand… What was Snape’s problem with an E? Isn’t that good?”

Harry nodded. “I’m happy, pretty much. But Snape and Professor McGonagall didn’t understand…”

“I presume you have had time to look at your O.W.L. results by now?” Snape sneered as he swept into the room, as usual without knocking first.

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” muttered Harry, then nodded for Snape’s sake, and spoke louder. “Come to gloat?”

“I wish,” Snape replied. “However, it seems that the Deputy Headmistress has seen fit to take advantage of her position to influence my admissions procedures this year. She sent me to discuss the conditions on your admittance to the N.E.W.T. level Potions course.”

“Well, I can solve that problem,” Harry responded finally. “I’m not taking it.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “I was under the impression you wanted to be an Auror… Surely even you aren’t egotistical enough to think that they will accept you to Auror training without your having taken Potions?”

“You were mistaken,” said Harry flatly. “I don’t care about being an Auror.”

“Then why on earth is Minerva on a crusade to assure that you become an Auror? She claims that you told her last year that you wanted to become an Auror after you graduate, and somehow I don’t think that *she’s* the one lying. What games are you playing, Potter?”

“Aren’t I allowed to reconsider my decision? Some facts came to my attention last year that indicated that I might not have a chance to become an Auror anyway. And besides, the Ministry hates me; why would they hire me?”

“I see…” Snape still seemed suspicious. “But why would you, of all people, have any problems becoming an Auror? Surely the Ministry cannot reject the ‘hero of the wizarding world,’” he insisted with a sneer.

Harry shrugged, and pointed out matter of factly,“It would be rather hard to be an Auror if I’m dead. With Voldemort after my head, do you really think it likely I’ll live to see the end of my seventh year?”

Snape seemed shocked by the morbid sentiment, but recovered fairly quickly. “If you wouldn’t rush off to confront him constantly like a fool Gryffindor, then your life expectancy would be much higher.”

“Do you think it’s fun, being the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’??” Harry raised his voice as he became as angry as he was capable of being under the mild Calming Draught. Snape looked a bit shocked that Harry had lost his temper at all. “Nobody knows who I really am, certainly not you! I have almost no real friends, while I have plenty of idiots that will drool over me right before they turn on me. And then there’s Voldemort; I think I knew from the beginning that I would have to be the one to defeat him. Can you imagine being eleven, having only just learned that magic even *exists* and then being informed that by some fluke you banished Voldemort in the past and knowing you will be responsible for making sure he never returns or that he is killed if he does?” Harry glared at him, and lowered his voice without making the tone any less dangerous. “And now he will pick off the people I love one by one, until I face him and he kills me, or I by some fluke manage to kill him once and for all. Already Cedric and Sirius have lost their lives *because of me*, and you think I care about whether what I’ll do *when I grow up*?” Harry’s anger finally subsided, leaving him feeling empty and strangely neutral toward Snape.

Snape stared at Harry for several long moments, then spoke. “Very well… I will inform Minerva of your feelings.” Harry presumed that this did not mean the reasoning, but merely the fact that he no longer wished to take N.E.W.T. Potions. Somehow Harry knew that Snape would not admit this conversation to anyone.

Harry gave Gordon a shorter version of what had happened, without his reasoning. The psychologist seemed to sense that he had left several important details out, but thankfully he allowed it to pass as he had Harry’s other omissions. “Nymphadora told me about Aurors. What changed your mind about wanting to be one?”

Harry was still stuck at the beginning of the first sentence. “Nymphadora?” he questioned incredulously. “Does Tonks know you call her that??”

A small smile played across Gordon’s face. “She really doesn’t like her first name, does she?” Harry shook his head. “She won’t hex a poor muggle, though… rather like hitting a girl, I think.” Harry got the strange sense that Gordon was not telling him the whole truth, but quickly dismissed it because he could see no reason for jumping to such a conclusion.

However, an uncertain expression remained on his face. “I’m not sure you’ll be immune from pranks, though…”

Gordon shrugged and gave a small laugh. “Bring it on, I say!” Harry wondered if the muggle *really* knew what he was getting into. “But really, why did you change your mind? Or was it because you didn’t have the grades?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. He couldn’t lie but he didn’t want to talk about Voldemort either. So far, Gordon had been someone that he could talk who did not think of him as a celebrity, pity him, or constantly call him a freak. This had seemed like an impossibility up until now, and he didn’t want to lose it.

Gordon sensed that Harry didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject. “Didn’t you say it was Professor McGonagall who was trying to pressure Snape into letting you into Potions? What did she think about this, do you know?”

“Yeah, she’s my head of house. And yes, I know—she came to Gr—here the next day. She wasn’t very happy…”

“Mr. Potter, what is this Severus tells me about you no longer wanting to be an Auror?” McGonagall asked as she burst into the library. Harry stood to his feet and motioned her out of the room immediately, refusing to make eye contact with any of his friends. Oh, he was going to get it for not talking to them about this.

Harry spoke slowly but firmly to his head of house. “I really appreciate you trying to help, Professor, but I can take care of myself. I have reconsidered and I don’t care to be an Auror anymore.”

McGonagall looked disappointed. “Why not?”

Harry sighed. “Let’s face it, the Ministry hates me. Besides…” he trailed off, not sure how much his professor knew.

“Besides what?” she prompted.

“Besides there are other things I’d rather do than be an Auror.”

“Like what?”

He paused, caught out in his lie, then finally sighed. “Let’s face it, Professor, I have more important things to do than worry about my future career.”

This time she was the one to sigh. “Harry, you don’t have to take the world on your shoulders… What would make you happy? I don’t want you giving up opportunities because of responsibilities that you think you have.”

Harry slouched a bit. “I wish it could be about what would make me happy,” he muttered, then said louder, “Just drop it, please, Professor. I don’t care about being an Auror anymore, and I have no desire to fight with Snape. I can learn potions on my own just fine.”

McGonagall frowned. “Very well, Mr. Potter, I will respect your wishes. Please let me know if you change your mind before the end of the summer, as until September 1st it is not too late to enroll you in the course.”

Harry nodded even though he had no interest in taking the course. McGonagall walked away quickly and Harry headed back in to face the inquisition.

“And were your friends upset that you hadn’t told them?” Gordon asked, sounding slightly concerned.

Harry shrugged. “Hermione was upset that I wasn’t taking Potions even when given the opportunity, and they all were upset that I hadn’t told them that I didn’t want to be an Auror anymore. I pointed out that I’m going to spend enough time—well, that I have other things to do, and they understood. I also told Hermione that I want to work on N.E.W.T. level Potions with her, even though I’m not taking the class. I think I might be able to take the test anyway, since not being around Snape can only help my progress.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Snape hates me. He and my dad had some kind of stupid rivalry back when they were in school, and all he can see when he looks at me is my dad.” Harry scowled. “The worst part is that I was really upset when I found out about the kind of things my dad had done to him, not that he would ever believe me if I told him.”

“What did your dad do?”

Harry frowned. “He was *bored*, of all the excuses, and so he ambushed Snape and then made fun of him… He turned him upside down for half the school to see his underwear.” Harry’s voice had been getting more upset, but now it was barely audible. “All I could think of was that it was like how Dudley used to bully me…” He shook his head, wondering how he had let himself be pulled so far into such emotional territory.

“Alright there, Harry?” Gordon asked, concerned. Harry nodded.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. Snape hates me and will always hate me, and now I at least won’t have to see him quite so much, now that I’m out of Potions. That’s a good enough reason for me to get out of Potions in and of itself, I think!”

Gordon nodded in understanding. “I can sympathize with you there!” He sighed. “Have you actually tried to talk to Snape about this?”

Harry shook his head in frustration. “The man takes points from me for *breathing*… he doesn’t listen to a word I say!” Harry felt a twinge of guilt at this overstatement, since Snape *had* listened to him in the dungeon, at least a little. But that little guilt vanished when he remembered how Snape had treated him with regards to the Calming Draught.

“Well, he can’t take points during the summer, can he?”

“No, thank goodness,” sighed Harry, but he could see where Gordon was going with all of this. “I’m not stupid, you know… I can see what you’re thinking. If he *voluntarily* comes to talk to me, then I will talk with him. Otherwise…” Harry was proud of this solution, which he was sure made it certain that he would not have to have such a talk with Snape.

“Voluntarily? Does that mean no one can ask him, or just that no one can coerce him?”

Harry thought about this. “Coerce.” He nodded to himself; Snape would never take anyone up on the “offer” to talk to Harry.

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Fair enough. What about Dumbledore? Have you talked to him about how he’s been treating you?”

Harry heard his voice turn cold. “I think I made that abundantly clear at the end of the school year. He pretended to listen but obviously it went in one ear and out the other, because he hasn’t changed a thing.”

Gordon leaned forward. “What happened at the end of the school year?”

“I destroyed his office,” Harry responded dryly. He could see that Gordon was about to ask why, and he shook his head. “No. I’m not talking about it. New subject.” Despite his quick response, Harry could feel tears burning at the backs of his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to clear them.

Gordon sighed and leaned back. “Which of the adults have we not talked about?”

“Remus and Tonks,” Harry responded neutrally. Inwardly he was wondering when this session might end, but he forced himself not to let his discomfort show on his face. The sooner he could convince Gordon that he was alright, the sooner these sessions would be over completely.

“You’re angry at both of them?” Harry nodded. “Why Remus?” Harry gathered himself to start another long explanation, but then Gordon interrupted him. “No, scratch that. We’ve been at this forever, haven’t we?” Harry nodded with more energy this time. “It’s very patient of you to keep going when you’re feeling tired, but please, tell me next time, alright? You’ve done a really good job today. I know it’s hard to face some of these emotions.”

Harry shrugged, not seeing the big deal. “Don’t just shrug it off, Harry! It takes a great deal of strength to face the kinds of memories you’ve been facing, and for you to do it for me when you’ve only known me a week—well, I’m honored and very proud of you.” Harry just received the comment awkwardly, not daring negate it with another shrug but not being willing to accept it either. Finally Gordon continued. “Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

Harry nodded again. “See you tomorrow,” he finally said aloud, and Gordon gave him a smile as he exited his room.

Harry spent several long minutes struggling to control his emotions again, before finally joining his friends in the library. He desperately hoped that the next day’s talk would be less emotional, but didn’t hold out much hope considering he would presumably have to talk about Remus.

The next day, Harry heard Gordon coming before he saw him.

“I have a session, Nymphadora!” Harry heard Gordon exclaim from somewhere nearby.

“I’ll have my revenge, old man!” was Tonks’ response.

Harry heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, and had to jump back to avoid getting hit by the door that had just slammed open. Almost immediately it was slammed shut again, and Gordon leaned back against the door, out of breath.

“You’re not getting away that easily!” cried Tonks while banging on the door.

“Nymphadora Tonks!” Harry was surprised at how parental Gordon’s voice sounded just then. “Harry is in here, it’s time for our session. You can have your revenge later!”

The banging immediately ceased. “Sorry,” was the dismayed reply. “I’ll just leave you alone, then.”

The apology seemed to be layered, as Harry thought she was probably apologizing to him as well. He felt that if he were willing to speak with any of the adults to try to work out his problems, it would probably be Tonks. She had come the closest to making an honest mistake, and after all, she didn’t know him very well. He mentally shook his head and returned to bed, waiting for Gordon to catch his breath and come join him in their usual positions.

Soon Gordon did come and sit in the chair across from Harry’s bed, and smiled sheepishly. “Nymphadora finally decided that it was time for her revenge. I barely escaped. Thanks for sheltering me.”

Harry laughed lightly, a bit of his discomfort at the idea of another long session ebbing away. The muggle psychologist really was funny sometimes. He shook his head in disbelief. “Perhaps if you stopped calling her Nymphadora?”

“Ah…” Gordon shook his head. “I think it’s a bit late for that, unfortunately. Now I’ll just have to bear my punishment, or run forever.” He winked. “Running is sounding better and better.”

Harry shook his head and didn’t say anything more. “So, how are you doing today, Harry?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “Fine.”

Gordon frowned. “The truth?”

Harry growled in frustration. “I don’t want to talk about any of this stupid stuff, okay?”

“What would you like to talk about?”

“Nothing! I’m tired of talking.”

“Harry…” Gordon sighed. “I know there’s something you’re not telling me, something important.” He leaned forward, keeping eye contact with Harry. “Do you think you could tell me?”

Harry backed up onto the bed a bit, shaking his head. “No… No, I’m not talking about that.”

“Please, Harry… by refusing to talk about it, you’re giving it power over you. I honestly believe that once you talk about it, you will feel much better.”

He merely shook his head again. “I am *not* talking about it!”

Gordon looked concerned. “Why not? Can you at least tell me why you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Harry answered instinctively. Then he thought about it. “And… I don’t want to change your opinion of me.”

Gordon smiled at that. “Harry, the only thing that might change my opinion of you is if you told me you were a dark wizard. In which case, I think I just wouldn’t believe you.”

Harry shook his head in frustration. “You can’t say that! You can’t tell me for sure that you won’t be like everyone else!”

“And how would that be?”

“Just… they either think I’m a clone of my parents, or worship me like a hero, or *pity* me. I hate it!”

Gordon sighed. “Harry, I’m sorry you’ve gotten these reactions from others, but please, think about it… have I shown any sign of hero worship, or pity? And I never even knew your parents, so you needn’t worry about that.”

“But I haven’t told you anything yet, that’s the point!”

“But can my opinion of you really mean anything, if I don’t know the real you?”

“Yes!” Harry exclaimed, and then bit his lip as he realized how that sounded. “I mean… well… I’d rather you know less about me and care, then know everything and pity me.”

Gordon leaned forward. “But what if I—or someone else—were to know the real you, and still care? Would it be worth the risk?”

Harry smiled bitterly. “If that were possible, then yes… but let’s be realistic…”

“Okay, then, let’s be realistic. How long have you known me?”

“Erm… just over a week?”

Gordon nodded. “That sounds about right. So I’m a muggle you’ve known for just over a week, and in about two weeks you’ll never have to see me again, if you don’t want to. Do you have anything to lose?”

“We-ell…” Harry stalled for time, trying to come up with an excuse. He felt a flash of anger at the psychologist, who had backed him into a corner. “It’s not that easy, darn it! How dare you—“

“Calm down, Harry,” said Gordon softly, effectively interrupting his tirade. “I know it’s not easy. It will probably be one of the hardest things you could ever do… But if you want it—really want it—then I can help you. Otherwise…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure what else I can do to help you.”

Harry leaned back, shocked and somewhat hurt. He was surprised to feel tears prickling at the back of his eyes. In a strangely tight voice, he asked, “So… that’s it? You come all this way just to throw out an ultimatum and walk away?”

“No, Harry!” responded Gordon earnestly. “*We* came all this way, and I’m not going anywhere. But I suppose it was an ultimatum, in a sense—if you ever want to heal emotionally, you will have to be real with *someone*. It needn’t be here, it needn’t be now, and there’s no reason it has to be me. You are surrounded by people who care and want you to trust them. I just want you to know that I’m here.” He stood. “Just think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

For the first time, Gordon left without giving him a chance to protest. He stared at the door, waiting for the psychologist to reenter, but it remained closed. Left with nothing else to do, he thought about what the man had said.

Harry thought about it. He thought about it while working on potions, and while he was supposedly reading in the library. He thought about it while listening to his friends talk, and while playing chess with Ron (who marveled that he hadn’t thought that Harry could get any worse).

Twenty-four hours passed quickly and slowly. But when his meeting time came, Harry’s Gryffindor courage abandoned him, and he hid like the baby he knew he was.

Harry then proceeded to avoid Gordon for the next twenty-four hours, avoiding his room until very late and waking early, and having Dobby bring him food so that he could avoid the kitchen.

Everyone who saw him knew that something was wrong, and gave him worried glances. Even Ron, dense as usual, had realized that something was wrong. After snapping at several people who only asked him how he was, Harry began avoiding everyone. This was not very successful—Hermione found him when he hid in the potions lab, and Dobby led Remus right to him in the attic before Harry ordered the house elf not to reveal his location except in an emergency.

Falling asleep in a closet caused him to miss his next dose of the Calming Draught. Waking to feel surprisingly refreshed, Harry crept out of the closet unaware that anything was amiss. He knew something was wrong, though, when he knew that Snape was headed his way. The man was mad, Harry could tell, and he found himself backing into the closet. Snape had come around the corner before he got a chance to close the door.

“Potter! What do you think you are doing?! Do you find it fun to play ‘hide-and-seek’ with the Order?” If Harry hadn’t already known that Snape was mad, it would be clear now that he was furious.

“Stay away!” Harry exclaimed as Snape stalked closer. Snape didn’t even hesitate.

“No, Potter, the game is over. *Some people* may prefer to let you do whatever you want, but I am not one of them. You will not waste the Order’s time any longer.”

“This is not a game,” Harry protested in a strained voice. The bubble was back, and Snape was coming dangerously close to popping it.

Suddenly, Snape came to a halt, a strangely hesitant expression on his face. “What are you doing, Potter?” he asked in confusion. Then, to save face, “Is ‘no magic during holidays’ so hard to remember?”

Harry could feel the same crackling in the air that had caused Snape to stop, and gathered that he must be the source. “I’m not trying—“ he said through gritted teeth.

“Well, that much is obvious, Potter,” Snape sneered in response, and took another step forward.

Everything happened in an instant. Harry snapped his eyes shut as he felt the bubble pop. He felt the crackling energy gather itself and then throw itself outward—at Snape.

Harry had opened his eyes and saw Snape, lying in the floor, unconscious. Harry stared at his prone form for a long moment in horror. He had attacked a professor, using magic illegally during the holidays no less. This time he would be expelled for certain! He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

“Snape?” he heard Remus’ voice call. Harry remained in place, still staring at the dark man unconscious in front of him. “Merlin, what happened?!” Remus asked himself, not yet aware of Harry’s presence. He rushed to Snape’s supine form, and then looked up in surprise as he heard the small noise of panic that Harry made.

“Harry??”

“Stay away…” he pleaded, holding his hands out in front of him and shaking. “I tried to stop him… why couldn’t he understand?”

“Harry…” said Remus cautiously, “you haven’t had your calming draught.”

He wanted to be angry at being reminded of this right now, but all he could feel was fear and worry. “You have to stay away!” he repeated.

“It’s okay, Harry,” soothed Remus, and took another step forward.

“Stop!” The air began to crackle again. “Don’t! It’s what happened to Snape!”

Remus stared into his eyes for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “Okay, Harry… I’ll take Snape, and call for Dumbledore.” Harry slid down the wall at his back wearily and prayed that he hadn’t killed Snape. He didn’t want another person dead because of him!

He sat in silence for long moments, still staring though Lupin had long since removed the body of his professor. Finally, he had heard footsteps approaching, but they weren’t those of Dumbledore. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

The owner of the footsteps turned out to be Gordon, and Harry felt himself turn slightly pink at the sight of the man he had been avoiding. The psychologist moved slowly but confidently toward Harry.

“Keep your distance,” Harry warned softly. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t,” said Gordon. “I don’t know why, but Albus said I was the only one he could be sure you wouldn’t hurt, even accidentally.”

Harry shuddered. “Is Snape…?”

He shook his head. “Remus said to tell you that he was only stunned.”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “I thought… I thought I might’ve…”

“…killed him?” Gordon finished quietly. Harry nodded. “No, Harry… even with magic, I think you have to want to kill someone.”

“Well, I thought I had to wave a wand and yell ‘Stupefy!” to stun someone, too…” Harry pointed out in a mildly bitter tone.

Gordon nodded, and pulled a vial from his pocket. “Will you take it? I think maybe it’s time for you to talk with the headmaster.”

Harry sighed, but he was still too shocked with all that had happened to argue. “I’ll take it,” he responded, holding out his hand. The psychologist placed the glass container into his hand, and Harry downed the bitter liquid in one go. For once, he appreciated the slightly fuzzy feeling that came over him. “Okay, I suppose it’s time to face the firing squad,” he said despondently, heaving himself to his feet.

Gordon chuckled and shook his head. “Harry, they aren’t out to get you.”

Harry laughed shortly. “No? Snape will be, if no one else. I don’t think even Dumbledore can save me this time…” He shuddered once again at the thought of being expelled, wondering what he would do instead. Gordon reached out to place a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder, and he skittered away immediately. When he realized what he had done, he said, “Sorry… I’m not really used to people touching me…”

Gordon frowned at this, but accepted the apology. They both headed up the stairs, lost in their individual thoughts. Harry was snapped out of his by the sound of the arguing voices at the top of the stairs, and his abrupt stop had forced Gordon to pay attention as well.

“Headmaster, he must be expelled! He attacked me, a professor, using magic during the holidays, no less! This kind of behavior would not be tolerated by anyone else, and should not be tolerated by him either!”

Dumbledore’s voice sounded tired. “Severus, I’m certain it was unintentional, and he didn’t do any lasting damage. Besides which, he needs to be at Hogwarts now more than ever, for his protection and so that he can receive training.”

“So he *accidentally* attacks me during the holidays, and now you are suggesting that he return to a school where he could hurt hundreds of children?” Snape’s voice was lower but no less angry. “This is almost as idiotic a decision as allowing a werewolf to attend Hogwarts!”

“Severus Snape!” Dumbledore snapped. “I will not allow you to question my decisions. After all, many have said that my most ‘idiotic’ decision was to allow a Death Eater to work at Hogwarts, with children.”

Harry felt a hand on his back, prodding him to continue up the stairs. Instead he turned to Gordon and shook his head. Gordon nodded and pointed up the stairs. “Come on, Harry. It’s time.”

Harry just shook his head more forcefully, his eyes wide. The fear and anger he was feeling were nearly overwhelming. He tried to go back down the stairs, but Gordon blocked his path. “Don’t you think you’ve spent enough time hiding, Harry?” he asked with a stare that was both stern and compassionate. “I’ll be right there with you.”

Harry sighed finally and continued his trek up the stairs, even more slowly than before. As he had almost reached the open door, he heard Snape ask impatiently, “What on earth is taking so long? Where is he?”

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, Harry stepped into the doorway and said quietly, “I’m here.”

In which Harry gets answers and learns new skills

"Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall."

Confucius

Snape was already near the door, but when Harry entered the doorway, he sneered and took another step closer, causing Harry to back up right into Gordon, who gently steadied him. “What did you hear, Potter?” he demanded.

Harry was mortified to find that he was shaking. “Severus!” he vaguely heard Dumbledore admonish his professor, but he was already turning to try to push his way past Gordon.

“I can’t do this,” he muttered to Gordon. “Let me go… please!”

“Harry, you can do this. Just stay for a few min—“ Gordon broke off as Harry suddenly stiffened and he had to catch the boy. The psychologist looked past Harry and saw Snape with his wand out, looking smug. Gordon was furious. He took the time to carefully lean Harry’s form against the wall, and then advanced on Snape. “You *idiot*! It’s no wonder he wants to run away, when you treat him like this! I could have convinced him to stay and we could have had a reasonable conversation, but no!”

The psychologist then turned on Dumbledore. “And you!” The headmaster looked a bit surprised to be targeted. “How can you let him do this to Harry? Do you realize that you are endorsing his behavior by failing to stop it?” He shook his head in disgust. “I would quit this job right now, except that I care about Harry, *despite* all of you! Now, did you have anything productive to say, or were you just planning on immobilizing him and showering him with useless platitudes?”

Dumbledore took a deep breath as though to steady himself. “You’re right, Gordon. You’re absolutely right. It wasn’t my intention to keep things from Harry, but it seems I have done so nonetheless. I suppose--”

Gordon nodded emphatically and interrupted the headmaster’s monologue. “You bet you do! But first…” he walked back to Harry’s side. “Unfreeze him or undo whatever you did. Harry will *not* be at a disadvantage during this conversation.” Dumbledore looked at Snape pointedly, who pointed his wand toward Harry reluctantly.

“Finite Incantatem.” Snape retreated to a corner of the room to stand, but did not exit. Meanwhile, Harry relaxed and nearly fell to the ground, but Gordon caught his arm and helped to steady him. A moment later, Harry took a step toward the door, but Gordon put himself in the way again.

“Come on, Harry… I think it’s about time to get some answers, don’t you?”

Harry shrugged. Right now, he just wanted to be away from this room, which seem to be saturated with anger and fear and even a little concern. It was all overwhelming and Harry could feel a headache forming.

“Harry? Talk to me.”

He shook his head. “Not here, not now… It’s too… noisy.” He put a hand to his head as the headache intensified.

“What…?” Gordon asked, his confusion evident.

“I believe I have an idea of what is going on,” answered Dumbledore calmly. “What do you feel, Harry?”

Harry thought that he had begun to feel the difference between his own emotions and those around him. The emotions of others were strong, but had a foreign feel to them. He opened his mouth to explain, and then his expression darkened. “How do *you* know what’s going on?”

“That is what I want to explain, Harry,” Dumbledore replied without flinching at Harry’s anger. “But I want you to be comfortable first. What are you feeling?”

“Professor Snape,” Harry said quite suddenly, without looking at the man in question. “I don’t want him here.”

Snape sputtered in disgust. “Surely you will not allow him to dictate his terms when you should be *punishing* him!” he protested.

Dumbledore gave Snape a sad look. “Severus… I am not one to punish people for things they do when they have been pushed to their breaking point.” Snape flinched back at this, and Harry felt shame join the mix of emotions swirling through the room.

“Even so,” Snape said finally, “why should I not be allowed to stay? After all, I am involved.”

“Be that as it may, Harry has requested that you not be present.”

“Fine,” Snape sneered at Harry as he passed him on the way to the door, and Harry took a step back to give him space. As soon as the man had left, his shoulders sagged and he sighed in relief.

“Thank you, Professor,” he said, his gratitude momentarily making him forget the reasons as to why he was angry at the old headmaster.

“Better, Harry?” He nodded. “Very well… I think it’s about time that I explain what is happening, to the best of my knowledge.” *Now* Harry remembered why he had been so angry at the man.

“You *knew*?” he hissed. “You knew and you didn’t tell me *anything*!”

Dumbledore held a hand up and Harry quieted by reflex. “I must admit, I have known more than what I told you, though not much. I have been trying to ascertain what changes you are undergoing so that I could help you with them, and as such did not take the time to fill you in on what I had found.” Harry just clenched his teeth and glared at the man, daring him to continue. “But I suppose the beginning would be the best place to start.

“I continue to be sorry about the method in which it was done, but it *was* very important that you be brought here on your birthday. Remus understood that, which is why he assisted. The balance of the timing was delicate, since I did not want to remove you from the Dursley residence to soon and risk ending the protection that you gain from them, but I also did not want you developing these new abilities away from us.”

This was just too much. “You knew this was going to be happening weeks ago and you’re only *now* telling me?!”

“I didn’t know, Harry, I only had a strong suspicion, and I did not want to worry you or cause you any undue anticipation if my suspicions turned out to be incorrect.” Dumbledore sighed. “You see, Harry, it is relatively common for witches and wizards to develop new abilities spontaneously around their 16th birthday, as 16 is the age at which you generally reach your full magical level. The fact that you come of age at 17 in the magical world is not accidental, as this gives you a year to get accustomed to any new abilities under the supervision and with the help of your professors, before you are able to practice magic on your own.”

“Why does no one tell me this stuff?” Harry exclaimed.

“I’m afraid that most of the time we forget that you have not been in the magical world all your life, since you have been known your entire life. However, if you have any questions at any time, you may feel free to ask me.”

Harry barely swallowed his first response, which was, ‘Like I’m going to ask *you*!’ Instead, he hissed, “If I knew what to ask, I wouldn’t *have* this problem!” He breathed heavily for a moment and then turned toward the wall. “Professor, I know you’re there. Please leave, I can’t think with you there.”

“Harry..?” Gordon said in a worried tone of voice, likely wondering why Harry had begun talking to the wall.

Dumbledore frowned. “Severus, I asked you to leave.” He gave a stern look to the wall. “Please, Severus,” he said in a tone that made it more of an order than a request.

“I’m leaving,” came a voice from the wall, clearly unhappy.

Harry turned back to the headmaster. “So I take it you know why I can feel everyone’s emotions now? Any other surprises I should look forward to?” he sneered.

Dumbledore looked more comfortable with this topic. “Yes, Harry, you seem to have developed empathy. Frankly, I’m not surprised, since it’s not such an uncommon gift, and you have always had an unusual affinity to emotions, as I have mentioned to you in the past. I also suspect that this is why your scar is most likely to hurt when Voldemort is feeling a particularly strong emotion.”

“Fine. How helpful,” Harry replied, rolling his eyes. “Thanks so much for your ‘help,’ but I think I’ll be going now.” He spun around and walked quickly toward the door, and this time Gordon made no move to block him.

“Harry, wait,” Dumbledore called when he neared the door. “Please, Harry…”

At the door, Harry’s anger finally overcame his discretion, and he turned around and began stalking back in the headmaster’s direction. “Tell me, why should I? Why should I listen to a *word* you have to say? Do you realize that you haven’t even apologized? It makes me wonder… Do you even realize that what you have done was *wrong*?” He stopped when he was only a few steps from Dumbledore, and he felt a small amount of magic crackle through the air. Apparently the headmaster felt it as well, for his eyes widened ever so slightly.

“Harry, I am deeply sorry for some of the things that I have had to do—“

Another crackle. “You see? If you were truly sorry, you would realize that these were not things you *had* to do, they were things you *chose* to do! You are one of if not the most powerful wizard in the world. Who made you order Remus to kidnap me from my relatives’ house rather than explain what was going on? Who forced you to have Madam Pomfrey give me an experimental potion and then interrogate me to satisfy your *curiosity*? And why did you *have* to force-feed me Calming Draughts until you had overdosed me? And why did it never occur to you to explain to me *anything* about what was going on??”

“Harry, please calm yourself,” pleaded Dumbledore. Suddenly, Harry realized something shocking—the *headmaster* was afraid of him. He wasn’t sure whether to be satisfied or afraid himself, but he settled with afraid when Gordon tried to place a calming hand on his shoulder and jumped back with a cry of pain.

Taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, he took a large step back, and then another. He finally stopped when he could no longer feel the crackling in the air. “Well, that was interesting,” he muttered darkly. He looked to Gordon and saw fear in the muggle’s eyes as well. This hurt him far more than Dumbledore’s fear had.

He took off for the door one last time. This time, no one was going to stop him. Unfortunately, the spell reached the door before he did, just as it had the night of his birthday. He felt a tingling run through him, though, and began to turn the doorknob. Then the coat rack grabbed him around his middle and the time he spent trying to break from it was enough for a nearby chair to trot over and place itself under the door handle, effectively stopping both entrance and exit.

“Harry!” Dumbledore’s tone of voice suggested that he had been calling for a while, though Harry could not remember hearing anything. “I am not trying to hold you prisoner.” The coat rack untangled itself from Harry and returned to its upright position as if to emphasize this point. “However, it is apparent that your ability has overpowered outside means of control, and you will need to learn to control it yourself before you can leave this room.”

“Outside means of control,” Harry unconsciously echoed, trying to figure out what the headmaster was talking about. Then suddenly he looked up in recognition. “*That* was why you were giving me the Calming Draught!”

Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Yes, Harry. It was not an arbitrary decision. And I never meant for you to be so incapacitated. However, I once again made the mistake of giving Severus some control over you by allowing him to control the size of the dose you were getting. I don’t think even he meant to overdose you, though.”

“But… what *is* it?” He realized that they were having to speak quite loudly to communicate across the room and started to step out, to bridge the gap. Then he realized what a bad idea that would be. “I know it’s not the empathy… that was never affected by the Calming Draught.”

“I’m afraid that I will have to admit that I don’t know exactly what this new ability is, Harry. I have been doing quite a bit of research over the past two weeks, but I have learned very little.”

Knowing that the old man was not likely to volunteer information, Harry spoke up. “What *do* you know?”

“I…” Harry had never seen the headmaster so reluctant to speak. “The only thing I have ever heard of that is vaguely related is a… a legend… it has become a scary story that is often told to wizarding children. It tells of… beings—Depascori, they are called—that can take a wizard’s magical energy and turn it back against them.” The wizard looked exhausted at having had to say so much, and sadly watched for Harry’s reaction.

For his part, Harry was stunned at the implications. He stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor, his legs suddenly too weak to hold his weight. “So… I’m a monster…” he murmured to himself.

“No!” Dumbledore protested immediately. He had no idea how the old wizard had heard his quiet comment from across the room, but apparently he had. “You are *not* a monster, Harry. This ability makes you no more evil than being a Parselmouth.”

“But… was Tom… is Voldemort…?”

The headmaster quickly shook his head. “No, Harry, he is not. This is one advantage you have over him.”

Harry chuckled darkly. “Great, I can beat him with a Dark Art and then become the next Dark Lord.”

“It’s not a Dark Art, Harry… It’s only been a legend, no one knows of a single being who has ever had this power, though apparently there must have been, for there to be such a legend.” Dumbledore had been slowly approaching Harry as he spoke, and was now only five feet away from him.

Harry looked up in surprise. “Are you sure you want to be so close to me?”

“Yes,” said the headmaster, and then he did something perhaps more odd than he had ever done before—with little to none of his usual decorum, he joined Harry on the floor, sitting with crossed legs facing Harry. The younger wizard had never had a chance to notice that the headmaster had *always* had an aura of power around him, though at times it was noticeably stronger. Now, with that aura gone or imperceptible, he was surprised to see a sad old man sitting across from him. “I’m sorry, Harry. I tried to protect you, once again, and only ended up hurting you even more. Will you let me help you, at least to gain control of this ability?”

Harry felt exhausted just at the thought of it. He asked a silly, childish question. “Isn’t there any way to just… turn it off?”

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry… sorry that you have one more thing that you must worry about now.” Then he sat up a little straighter, and his voice was more confident. “But I *will* be here for you, if you allow me to be.”

“So will I, Harry,” came Gordon’s voice from Harry’s right, and then the man was ruffling his hair playfully. “You didn’t think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?”

Harry sighed in relief at the support that he could feel coming from Dumbledore and that he knew Gordon was offering as well, even if he couldn’t feel it. Actually… “Professor?”

The twinkle in Dumbledore’s eye was hard to miss as it brightened and he gave a mischievous smile. “You may not *ever* call me this when we are around anyone else, barring Gordon, but please, call me Albus. I’m not actually your professor, anyway.” He winked.

“Er…” Had the headmaster, who was more than a century older than him, just asked him to call him by his first name? “Can I stick to ‘sir’?” he asked embarrassedly.

The older wizard laughed out loud at that. “Is there something wrong with my given name?”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. He hurried to explain, “It’s just that you’re so old and—“ He turned bright red. “I didn’t mean it *that* way!” Now both Dumbledore and Gordon were laughing at him. He hid his face in his hands and waited for the laughter to subside. Finally, it did. “I just can’t call you by your first name… it’s too weird…” They both burst out laughing again, and what blood had left his face returned. “Oh Merlin! I didn’t mean your *name*!”

The headmaster chuckled. “That’s quite alright, Harry. You may call me whatever you prefer, whether it be ‘Professor,’ ‘sir,’ or anything else. Within limits, of course. Now… I believe there was something you were going to ask me?”

“There was?” Harry asked with a blank look. Then he remembered. “Oh! I was wondering, why can’t I feel Gordon’s feelings like everyone else’s?”

“Ahh…” Dumbledore started to lean back, but then realized that on the ground it was not the most effective way of doing things. With a wave of his wand he conjured three bean bag chairs and settled himself in one. “I apologize, but my old bones can’t handle sitting on the floor for too long.”

Harry shrugged and pulled himself up and into another of the beanbag chairs, and watched as Gordon settled himself in the third. Then he waited for Dumbledore to continue.

“That is an excellent question, Harry…” He leaned back and steepled his fingers, clearly considering his answer carefully. “You see, all wizards and witches give off ambient magical energy. This energy is actually fueling both of your new abilities, though in different ways. The way your gift of empathy works is to pick up on changes that come in the ambient energy according to the wizard’s mood. As for your other ability, which we will have to give a name, when no spells are fired at you, you are able to draw on a wizard’s ambient magical energy to fuel your protection.”

Harry nodded, then understood. “So that’s why you weren’t worried about Gordon!”

Dumbledore nodded. “Indeed. There was no energy to fuel a protective response.”

“So how do I learn to control this?” Harry asked, coming to the point with more than a bit of nervousness.

“Well, at the moment I am controlling my ambient magical energy and keeping it to a minimum. That is a special ability of mine and is how I am often able to get and keep people’s attention. You see, most if not all wizards unconsciously sense the ambient magical energy of the others around them.”

“So right now there isn’t much for me to leech off of?”

Dumbledore nodded, and Harry thought he caught a small frown crossing Gordon’s face. “Now, I’m going to start slowly letting go of it, and we’ll see what happens, alright? If you accidentally stun me, get Gordon to call Severus and he can revive me.”

Harry struggled to his feet. “No, I can’t do this!” he exclaimed, horrified at the idea of stunning the headmaster, even if he *had* been angry at the man a few minutes ago.

“Calm down, Harry,” replied Dumbledore. “If I believed that you would harm me, I would not have offered to help you learn… As it is, I am most definitely the best person, as I can at least partially control your source of power if you get out of control. Now, I’m going to start…”

Harry started to back away the moment he felt that strange crackling between them. “Harry, come back, please,” Dumbledore said in a commanding voice, and Harry took one step forward before he even thought about it. Then he stopped and shook his head.

“I’m going to hurt you! And Snape will *kill* me if he has to come in here to revive you!” Harry exclaimed, barely controlling the panic inside him.

“*Professor* Snape will do no such thing, Harry. And I said, I have *asked* you to do this, so I do not mind if you lose control once or twice… though I would prefer that you didn’t.” He smiled gently.

“Come on, Harry, just come sit in the chair, and then you don’t have to move,” encouraged Gordon. Harry took another hesitant step forward, and shuddered as he truly felt himself come in contact with the headmaster. The crackling grew much more noticeable.

“Harry, the magic is there, but it will not do anything unless you ask it to. Eventually you will need to learn to control the effects so that it is not so obvious, but for now, just focus on feeling it.”

After a few more hesitant steps forward, Harry collapsed back into the beanbag chair. Then he closed his eyes and tried to do as the older wizard was telling him.

“What do you feel, Harry?”

“The magic… it’s right there, like you said. It’s like with S—Professor Snape, earlier… it was there, and then it gathered itself and threw itself at him.” He cut himself off as soon as he finished with this, as he had thought for a moment that the magic was gathering itself as he spoke about it.

“Can you ask it to do something else, other than hurling itself at me?”

“Erm… Well…” He thought hard of floating, and the magic gathered itself underneath him. He didn’t dare open his eyes as he felt his beanbag sway as the magic continued to flow upwards and push him higher. Then, suddenly, the flow snapped and he fell through the air.

He distantly heard Gordon cry out, but he never impacted. He opened his eyes and saw himself fall through the last few inches from where he had stopped, hovering in the air. “Oof!” he let out a bit of air in surprise at the delayed impact, but it was hardly a bump compared to what it could have been.

“Interesting choice…” commented the headmaster, smiling slightly with a twinkle in his eyes. “Perhaps you should choose something that does not end up taking you out of range of me?”

“Do you have any suggestions, *sir*?” he asked, frustrated at being teased.

The infamous ‘thoughtful’ look crossed his face, and then it let up. “Perhaps you could try gathering it around you, so that it could defend you without actively attacking the person you are drawing energy from?”

Harry nodded slowly, then closed his eyes again to focus on the magic. He thought of gathering it around him, a bit like his winter cloak on a particularly cold day—or perhaps more like his invisibility cloak, since it covered his head as well. He heard an exclamation from Gordon and opened his eyes quickly. “What?!”

“You disappeared!” Gordon exclaimed.

Dumbledore merely looked intrigued. “Did you ask it to make you invisible, Harry?”

“Erm… I suppose sort of… I was imagining drawing the magic around me like my invisibility cloak.”

“Fascinating,” he replied thoughtfully. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. “Perhaps you could imagine it clear this time?”

Harry closed his eyes and drew the magic back around him, this time imagining it to be a clear plastic sheet that covered him from head to toe. “Now, can you open your eyes without losing hold of it?”

He opened his eyes slowly but continued to imagine the magic surrounding him, and was fairly certain he had succeeded. “I think… I think I have it…” he said hesitantly, trying not to forget about the magic.

Without giving any other indication, Dumbledore’s wand was suddenly pointed at him. “Riddikulus!”

Harry gasped as the spell impacted on his ‘shield.’ He felt the magic surge and realized immediately that it would be too much. He allowed some of the new magic to make it through his shield, but pushed some of it away and it rebounded on Dumbledore.

A moment later they found themselves both giggling. Neither had had the full effect of the spell, but each got enough that they couldn’t help but giggle. Gordon looked back and forth between them. “What’s so funny?” he asked finally.

This only made Harry giggle more. Meanwhile, Dumbledore was trying to reverse the spell. “Fini-hahaha! Finit-hehehe-“

Suddenly Harry had an idea. He gathered the energy toward him and tried to imagine it drawing the spell out and dissipating it. It took what seemed like forever but he saw the magical energy flowing out of him and dispersing around him. Then, nervously, he asked it to do the same to Dumbledore. It gathered and moved in his direction, and hesitated as Harry nearly panicked, but finally he pushed it in the headmaster’s direction again and focused on drawing the energy out. This time the process went slightly faster.

He opened his eyes and saw Dumbledore beaming at him proudly. “Excellent work, Harry!”

Harry narrowed his eyes, realizing something. “There is no way that you couldn’t have cast the counter-curse to a half-strength Riddikulus hex!”

“But you did such a marvelous job of doing it on your own!” he replied happily, resolutely ignoring (or being truly unaware of) the fact that Harry was irritated.

“Fine. See if I help you again.” He heard choking laughter from his right and turned to see Gordon quickly compose himself. He crossed his arms and looked back to Dumbledore. “What now?”

“I’ll let you discover that for yourself, Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore replied with a lazy smile worthy of Lucius Malfoy. Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

“How about this—I’ll just leave,” he suggested in frustration. He turned and headed toward the door. As he neared it, though, the coat rack once again attached itself to him.

“I did not say we were finished, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You may step away from the door and come back in this direction on your own, or the coat rack can carry you here.”

But Harry was hardly listening. He felt an odd tingling and realized that there was magic *in* the coat rack. With a little concentration he pulled the magic out of the coat rack, and felt and heard it snap back into its normal position. He pulled the magic around himself as he had before, but without a constant source it quickly dissipated.

“Need I give you another warning?” came Dumbledore’s hard voice.

“And what are you going to do, exactly?” Harry replied.

“This! Stupefy!” he called out, and a red bolt flew toward Harry.

Instinctively using the quick reflexes he had learned from both the Dursleys and Quidditch, he ducked to the side and avoided the spell.

“The real question,” said the headmaster, “is what *you* are going to do. Riddikulus!” Once again Harry dodged, but this time he ended up on the ground. “Stupefy!” Harry was halfway up but turned his forward momentum into a roll to avoid the next spell. Then he was within range of Dumbledore, and he smiled and gathered the energy to him quickly.

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. “And what is that going to do? You couldn’t even fully reflect the Riddikulus that I sent earlier!”

Harry felt that the energy would certainly be crackling in the air if he was not holding it tightly to him as he glared at Dumbledore. In the back of his head he realized that this was all play, but then, Dumbledore was sending real spells at him! And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that even if he understood why now, he was still not happy with how Dumbledore had dealt with things over the past few weeks. “Just try it,” he smiled cockily.

“Stupefy!” Harry concentrated his energy on making the magic into a mirror that would reflect the spell. It raced toward him, bounced off his shield, and flew back at Dumbledore at twice its usual speed. Harry saw his eyes widen a moment before the stunner hit him and he collapsed to the ground.

Harry said a word that would have gained a glare from Hermione before rushing to Dumbledore’s side, feeling the energy dispersing already. He tried to focus what was left, but it slipped through his imaginary fingers and away before he could do anything. He sat back and stared at the headmaster’s prone form. “I am *so* dead,” he murmured.

“Harry? I think I should get Snape now,” Gordon said hesitantly. “Just stay calm, I’m sure he’ll wake Dumbledore up quickly.”

“If only that was what I was worried about,” he muttered to himself, then shook his head. Maybe, just maybe, Snape would show restraint this once.

“Potter!” There he was. “What have you done to the headmaster?” he demanded angrily.

He focused on trying to keep his voice calm. “He was hit by his own stunner… All he needs is an ‘Enervate,’ but I can’t cast it, since I’m not allowed to do magic over the summer,” he said, keeping his voice remarkably even, even if it did come out in a low monotone as a result.

“And how, pray tell, did the headmaster get hit by his own stunner?” Snape sneered, showing no signs of casting the necessary spell any time soon. “For that matter, why was the headmaster casting a stunning spell in the first place?”

“He was testing me,” Harry replied in the same tone. “Please, can you wake him?”

“What was he *testing,* Potter?”

Harry bit back an exclamation and was proud of himself when he only answered with a half-truth, “I was practicing dodging.”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “You were practicing dodging…?” he asked rhetorically.

Finally Harry couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, will you cast the spell already?” he exclaimed.

“Perhaps I should cast a spell on you, first? After all, it’s only fair after you stunned me earlier,” he sneered.

“Snape…” Gordon said warningly, approaching them rapidly.

“Stay *away,*” Harry hissed. “I can take care of myself.”

“Oh?” Snape sneered. “Let’s test that theory—Legilimens!”

In which Harry must face up to what he has become.

While grief is fresh, every attempt to divert only irritates. You must wait till it be digested, and then amusement will dissipate the remains of it.

Samuel Johnson (1709 - 1784)

“Oh?” Snape sneered. “Let’s test that theory—Legilimens!”

Harry instinctively panicked for a moment when he heard the spell, and tried to clear his mind desperately. The spell hit, and Harry saw the first memory he didn’t want anyone to see, much less the Potions Master—him cowering back into the closet while Snape advanced on him. In anger he nearly flung all the energy inside of him out, but then he realized that he could do something more productive with it. He used the energy he already had from Snape to remove the Legilimens from him in the same way as he had done for the Riddikulus curse earlier. It was too much for him to hold on to, but he was able to send it toward Dumbledore along with some from his shield and tell it to wake him.

The magic hit the headmaster and entered into him. Immediately he blinked his eyes open and sat up. “Ah, I see that I underestimated Mr. Potter again. Thank you for your assistance, Severus.”

Snape was staring intently at Harry, who was staring just as intently at the floor. The headmaster seemed to sense the awkwardness. “Is there something wrong?”

Neither spoke. Harry didn’t want to anger Snape, especially now that he knew at least part of his secret, and Snape presumably did not want to admit that he had attacked Harry instead of reviving the headmaster. “Severus? Harry?” Dumbledore tried again.

Gordon spoke up. “He attacked Harry, Headmaster. He cast a spell at him, but I think Harry used some of the energy to wake you up.” He looked torn between anger at the professor who had attacked his student, and pride that Harry had defused the situation so well.

“Is this true, Severus?” Dumbledore asked wearily, looking to Snape. “Nevermind, I won’t ask that question,” he amended a moment later. “What spell did you have the *audacity* to cast at an unarmed student during the holidays?”

“Legilimens, sir,” the usually proud man replied through gritted teeth. He made a last ditch attempt to salvage some respectability in the eyes of the older wizard. “I was testing to see if he had been practicing Occlumency, sir.”

Dumbledore frowned at Snape. “You may go. I will deal with you later. But if I hear that you have even *alluded* to what has happened here in the meantime…” He left the threat unfinished. Snape nodded and stalked from the room quickly. Dumbledore sighed and looked to Harry, who had sagged back wearily. “Are you alright, Harry?”

Harry nodded. Then he smiled weakly. “He only got in for a minute, and then I took the energy and used it to wake you up.”

Dumbledore smiled widely, his eyes twinkling furiously. “Congratulations, Harry! Are you ready to try going to see other people now?”

He started to nod and tried to stand to his feet, but his limbs didn’t seem to want to coordinate. He sighed and just lay down on the floor. He distantly heard chuckling but his head was just so fuzzy. A moment later he felt someone’s arms lifting him, and thought he heard a gasp. Two voices were talking in worried tones but he just couldn’t rouse himself out of his half sleep. When he was laid on a soft bed, he slipped the rest of the way into a sound sleep.

And so he found himself a bit more comfortable today as Gordon entered with a smile. “Harry! How was your morning?”

“Tiring,” he admitted. “I’m not sure how I’m going to manage at Hogwarts… Just being around my three friends was exhausting.” And disappointing, he didn’t add.

“It’s hardly been 24 hours since you found out what was happening and started learning to control it. Give yourself some time, and I’m sure you’ll get it,” Gordon replied. “What about your friends? How did they take the news?”

Harry sighed. “What I told them they took okay, I guess…”

“That doesn’t sound very positive. And what’s this about, ‘what I told them’? What didn’t you tell them?” Gordon asked piercingly.

“Well…”

* * *

“Hi guys,” Harry greeted quietly as he took a hesitant step through the door to the library.

“Harry!” As usual Hermione was the first to launch herself in his direction. “Where have you been, we’ve been so worried!”

Harry had gasped slightly at the strain of pulling Hermione’s energy out of the way, but it was masked by the fact that she had thrown her arms around him at that point.

“Hermione—can’t-breathe-“ he only half-playfully gasped. “Good to see you too,” he laughed when she finally let go. Then he looked to the two redheads who were only barely restraining themselves from the same response. “You too.”

“Where *were* you, Harry?” Ginny asked, the worry in her voice and a flash of frustration in her eyes.

“Yeah, mate, what happened?” Ron chimed in.

Harry moved his gaze to the floor, which not only served to hide his emotions but also the strain that he was feeling from now having two more sources of magic swirling around him. “It’s stupid…” he answered quietly.

“Oh come on, Harry… I’m sure it wasn’t stupid at all!” responded Hermione.

“Well, I—I didn’t want anyone to know where I was… I needed to be alone, and especially away from Gordon…”

“Can you tell us why?” Ginny asked gently.

“He pushed me… he wanted me to tell him too much, too fast. Some stuff I just don’t want to talk about, like Voldemort.”

Ron’s voice was surprised. “You haven’t told him about Voldemort? How on earth have you told him anything about yourself?”

Anger flared up at him and he only caught the energy just in time. He hoped desperately that no one had noticed the brief crackling in the air that had been its only signal. “My life doesn’t revolve around Voldemort, you know!” he exclaimed, and then he began to laugh nervously. “Oh… I guess it does, doesn’t it?” The others joined briefly in his nervous laughter. “I just… I wanted to be normal…”

He’d tried two people before, but this was the first time he was trying to deal with three at once, and he wasn’t coping very well. “I’m really sorry, guys, but… could you give me a little space?” The three looked a bit confused at this but backed off. This brought both Ginny and Ron out of his current sphere, and Hermione to its edge. He tried not to visibly sag with relief but wasn’t sure how successful he had been.

Hermione frowned, confusion and worry welling up in her. “Harry, what’s going on?”

“I…” He shook his head slowly. “I found out some stuff from Dumbledore. I guess in coming of age sometimes new powers develop in some people.”

There was a pause, and then Ginny asked tentatively, “Yeah, most people know that, but what does that have to do with you needing us to back up?” Harry’s head swung to stare at her, and in his surprise he lost some of his control on the stored energy in the room, and there was another crackle before he regained control. “I saw you relax when we backed up, and just now I could feel the magic in the air but it wasn’t doing anything.”

“Even Dumbledore isn’t completely certain what is going on, which says something about it. Apparently I have the ability to gather and control the ambient magical energy of others. He said it was similar to a wizarding legend about the Depas—Depastori?”

“Depascori?” Ron gasped as his eyes widened, and he and Ginny both took several additional steps backward.

Hermione looked confused. “I’ve never read about the Depascori. Did Dumbledore say where he heard about this?”

Before Harry could answer Ron’s fear disappeared as he got a triumphant look on his face, and then exclaimed, “What’s this? I know something that Hermione doesn’t? Woohoo!” and started dancing around in circles. Unfortunately, his circles brought him too close to Harry and there was another crackle of magical energy before Harry got it under control. This brought Ron out of his celebration as he backed up again and muttered, “Sorry, mate.”

“It’s okay, just try to remember in the future,” Harry replied, wishing that the Weasleys wouldn’t look at him with that expression on their face. “And Hermione, don’t feel too bad. Dumbledore said the Depascori are part of a story in the wizard world used to scare children, which is also why not much is really known about them.”

Hermione’s face showed a bit of relief, but she looked like she had something else on her mind. “Am I too close, Harry? I’m about where Ron got to when the flash or whatever it was happened.”

“You’re just inside my sphere of influence, but it’s ok, I have your energy under control. No offense, but controlling Dumbledore’s power is quite a bit harder than a 6th year.”

Hermione backed up a bit, and then asked, “Is this better?”

“You’re still inside my sphere, but really, it’s ok. I don’t mind you being there.” Hermione didn’t seem to be completely listening, and she backed up to join Ron and Ginny. Harry looked at her face, and saw a bit of fear in her face as well. Loneliness crept up on him with the realization that this would most likely be everyone’s reaction when they found out about him. He turned and fled the room without another word.

“They were scared of me, Gordon,” Harry finished, trying to keep his voice steady. “If they reacted like that… I can’t tell anyone! But what happens if someone surprises me in the middle of class and I lose control?” Some of his desperation was leaking out despite his best efforts.

“Harry, there is something important you have to believe,” Gordon said, leaning forward. When Harry nodded that he was listening, he continued, “This ability is not bad, nor does having it make you bad.”

Harry shook his head in denial. “I wish I could believe you, Gordon, but you heard what Dumbledore said… I’m like the wizarding world’s worst nightmare!”

“That is not what he said, Harry. He said your ability was similar to that of the Depascori, but if you remember he also made it very clear that you are no monster and that this ability was not evil or dark in any way.”

“Then why are people so scared of it?” Harry protested.

“Let’s think about it… why do you think they would find this frightening?”

This brought Harry up short. He thought about it. “I guess… I guess because the stronger you were, the worse off you would be. Wizards are used to only using magic, so the fact that they not only couldn’t use magic but that being magical could work against them would be scary…”

Gordon nodded. “That makes sense. Anything else?”

Harry frowned. “Well, if it were possible to actually take their magic that would be even scarier. I would be more powerful and they would be weaker.”

“So do you think those fears are justified in the face of reality? That is, do you think people have a reason to be afraid of you?”

“Well…” Harry hedged. “It is true that the stronger someone is the more I have to work with… For example, the difference between Dumbledore and Hermione was quite large. But unless they attack me I’m not going to use it against them, so…”

Gordon nodded in agreement. “What about taking their magic? Can you actually do that, make them weaker?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m just feeding off their ambient magic, which they aren’t using anyway.”

“So, once your friends understand this and have some time to think things through, they won’t be scared of you anymore, don’t you think?”

“But that assumes that I actually have control!” Harry replied. “If I don’t… the magic is so volatile, it just does whatever it thinks I want or need, without conscious thought from me. They should be scared of me; I could hurt them!”

“Harry, when faced with someone you truly dislike and when you felt threatened, the worst you did was stun. If you accidentally stun someone, it can be easily remedied. What are you really worried about?”

“I don’t want to be even more of a freak!” Harry exclaimed in frustration, before realizing what he had said and turning his gaze toward the floor.

“Why do you think you are a freak, Harry?” Gordon asked softly.

“Because of this!” Harry snarled, pulling his fringe back to display his infamous scar. “My whole life revolves around a Dark Lord who tried to kill me when I was a baby and somehow failed, and now I am expected to kill him!”

There was no doubt that Gordon had not known this information previously, as his face showed both surprise and confusion. “What are you talking about? You’re still in school, surely no one expects you—“

“’Surely!’ he says!” mocked Harry. “I told you, I’m a freak. The rules don’t apply to me! No, I’ve been expected to do this since I was a baby, even if some people didn’t want to admit it to me until recently,” he finished bitterly. “But first I had to spend ten torturous years alone with the Dursleys so that I would be ‘safe.’” He laughed humorlessly. “Safe like I am at Hogwarts, where I end up having to fight Voldemort nearly every year. Though I suppose I didn’t have to fight him this year, I just chose to go get my godfather killed!”

Gordon looked worried, but a bit of righteous anger seemed to come over him at the end of Harry’s monologue. “Now I know that’s not true! You loved your godfather, and you did not choose to get him killed,” Gordon insisted firmly.

“What do you know?” Harry exclaimed. “You don’t know anything! I let Voldemort trick me, I fell right into his plan… I didn’t listen to Hermione when she warned me, I just went off on my ‘saving people thing’ without ever thinking about the danger! And Sirius had to come rescue me and he got killed doing it, and my friends could have gotten killed too if it weren’t for our ‘sheer dumb luck’!”

“Harry… Harry!” Gordon reached forward and grabbed Harry’s waving hands gently, stilling them. “Calm down, I’m not trying to argue with you.” This statement shocked Harry into complete silence. “You’re right, Harry, that the events that lead to your godfather’s death were indeed at least partially your fault. However, that is not to say that I will allow you to take full responsibility for what happened.”

“Why not?” Harry demanded. “You just said it was my fault! I could have stopped it!”

“Yes, Harry, you could have done things differently, and you will have to face those mistakes and think about them. In fact, I believe we are going to be having a conversation very soon about your hero complex. You are not the only one who could have done things differently, though. Sirius made his decision to follow you… even Voldemort made his decision to trick you, and that portion of the blame clearly lies with him.”

“But I could have stopped it!” Harry repeated stubbornly. “Other people made decisions, but if I hadn’t let myself be tricked he wouldn’t have gotten killed!”

“You can’t say that for certain, Harry. For all you know Voldemort could have killed Sirius in a battle the next day. You simply can’t second guess everything; all you can do is take responsibility for what you have done, and not take the responsibility of others upon yourself. If you can learn to stop taking others’ guilt on yourself, I think you will find things much easier to deal with.”

Harry was shaking his head in preparation to continue protesting, but Gordon spoke again first. “Listen, I know I can’t make you believe this, nor do I want to. Just think about it, alright?” Harry hesitated before nodding reluctantly. “Now, what about this—“ Gordon interrupted himself when there was a knock on the door.

As for Harry, he had been startled by the unexpected interruption and his ‘sphere’ pulsed outward for a moment, just far enough to come in contact with the person standing outside. “Ron?” he half-greeted and half-questioned.

The door opened and Ron stuck his head in, and seemed to be just as startled to realize that Gordon was there. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot about… I’ll just come back later,” he quickly excused and began to close the door behind him.

“Wait, Ron!” Gordon called out. “Come on in, you don’t need to come back later.”

Ron looked to Harry for confirmation and Harry shrugged, not sure what to make of all this. However, he indicated a space on the bed next to him for Ron to sit and waited to see what his best friend would do. Ron moved hesitantly as he entered the room, but as nothing seemed to happen he relaxed noticeably and moved more quickly to sit beside Harry.

Gordon watched the two of them with a small smile on his face, then asked, “Would you like me to leave? You can come get me when you’re done talking…”

Harry might not have minded Gordon staying, but it was obvious from Ron’s face that he did. “Erm… I think that would be good… thanks, Gordon,” Harry replied. They both watched as the older man left the room, and then Harry turned back to Ron. “What’s going on, Ron?”

“Err… I just wanted to apologize, for earlier, you know,” Ron stumbled through his words as he shrugged. “We all got so scared, and then I realized how silly it was… and I could see how hurt you were. It’s just… the stories, about the Depascori, they’re scary. They’re like Dementors only with your magic, and anything you try just makes them stronger because they feed off your magic.” He laughed humorlessly. “But you’re obviously not a monster out to feed off of anyone’s magic, you’re just able to use it. If you were out to get us like the Depascori then we’d be dead!” This time his laugh had slightly more amusement in it. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. I just heard Depascori, and well… it was like a gut reaction, you know?”

Harry nodded, relief flooding through him. Gordon was right, they weren’t going to be mad at him forever! “I know, Ron… It was scary for me, too. I didn’t know what was going on, and then I—“ He laughed nervously. “I stunned Snape,” he admitted. “Accidentally!” he added quickly.

Ron laughed at loud at this. “Bully for you, Harry! He’s had it coming to him forever… I only wish I could have been there to see it!”

Harry wasn’t quite so excited. “He was so mad… And I really didn’t mean it. I think it’s a good thing I’m not taking Potions next term.”

“So how does this work, exactly?” Ron asked. “I mean, how are you like the Depascori? Obviously whatever you’re doing with our magic is not harmful, or else Dumbledore wouldn’t have let you come near people again.”

Harry shuddered at the mere thought of never being able to come within a normal distance of anyone. “It’s… Well, like I said earlier, the only thing I affect is your ambient magical energy, so as far as I know it shouldn’t affect the power of your spells or have any noticeable effects to you. I guess… From what I can tell, every wizard gives off this magical energy, and usually it just dissipates. With me, though, I act kind of like a magnet for it… I think that crackling is the magic staying in the air between us, because I haven’t told it to do anything yet.”

“So why isn’t there any crackling right now? And what do you mean, you haven’t told it to do anything?”

“Hmm… It’s like the magic will do whatever I want to happen. I don’t have to say any spells, or move my hands or anything, just picture clearly what I want to happen. With Snape, the magical energy just threw itself at him in a stunning spell because I felt threatened by him.”

“So what else can you do?” Ron asked excitedly.

Harry smiled at his red-headed friend’s enthusiasm. “Well I can do this…” He imagined the magical energy around him already to be invisible, and Ron gasped.

“Harry??”

Grinning, Harry reappeared by making the energy clear again. “You prat!” Ron exclaimed, slapping him lightly upside the head. “Don’t scare me like that!” Then he seemed to recognize the benefits of what he had just seen. “You’ll never need an invisibility cloak again!”

“Actually… I probably will, since I can only do that as long as there is someone close enough that I can draw magic from. Although I suppose it could come in handy if Snape were just around the corner about to catch me!”

“I’ll say!” Ron hesitated as if considering his next question before asking, “So, what happened yesterday, anyway? Everyone was looking for you, and then the next thing we knew people were saying you were in the room with Dumbledore, and Snape was lurking around outside the door like the overgrown bat he is. Then he went in, and Gordon came out a few minutes later with you in his arms, and Dumbledore was furious with Snape!”

“Oh, that,” Harry responded with substantially less enthusiasm in his voice. “Dumbledore was helping teach me to control the energy better but then I kind of accidentally reflected a stunner back at him too fast for him to dodge it.” Ron’s eyes widened at this tidbit. “Before we started he told Gordon to just go get Snape if something like that happened, even though I told him Snape would be mad. So Snape came in and I tried to just ask him to wake Dumbledore up, but he said he wanted to get me back for stunning him first. He cast Legilimens on me and—“

“That—That—how dare he?! After he didn’t even finish training you he had the gall to rub it in your face and rummage through your thoughts?” Ron exclaimed.

Harry laughed. “It would have been a lot worse if it had worked. Instead, I managed to reflect the spell and use it to Enervate Professor Dumbledore. Snape wasn’t too happy about that. Then Gordon told the headmaster what Snape had done, and that must have been why Dumbledore was furious.” A pensive look came over his face. “I wonder if Dumbledore actually punished Snape…”

Ron looked skeptical. “Wouldn’t that be the day? But Dumbledore ‘trusts’ Snape… and he’s a professor, it’s not like we would ever find out what his punishment was anyway.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah…” He smiled hesitantly. “Thanks, Ron.”

His best friend looked at him as if he had grown horns. “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because you’re not scared of me… I wouldn’t have blamed you—I’m a bit scared of myself,” he admitted with a shrug.

Ron shook his head in bemusement. “Only you, Harry… only you would develop an ability that no one’s ever heard of before and be scared of it.” He laughed. “What are you scared of, that you’ll stun Snape again? If you do, I’m sure he’ll deserve it!”

“Prat,” Harry responded good-naturedly, lightly punching Ron on the shoulder. “You should have heard him… ‘Headmaster, he must be expelled… He attacked a professor with magic during the holidays!’” Ron laughed at Harry’s remarkably good impression of Snape’s tone and mannerisms.

“You know, mate, I’m not sure I like how good you are at imitating him…” he teased. Harry rolled his eyes. He was sorely tempted to show Ron a real impression of Snape using his metamorphmagus abilities, but he decided finally that he really did want to keep that a secret.

“Sorry to break off you insulting me, but I think Gordon is waiting for us to finish talking,” Harry replied somewhat reluctantly.

“Oh! Yeah, Hermione and Ginny are probably wondering where I disappeared to,” Ron responded immediately. Harry’s smile widened at the indication that Ron had not been advised to come talk to him but had done it of his own accord. “I’ll see you a little later?” his friend finished.

Harry nodded. “Yeah… in the library?” Ron nodded. “Okay, see you later!”

When Ron left, he realized that he felt almost naked without the sensation of magical energy pulsing around him. He was surprised that he was adjusting so quickly to the new feeling, but was now somewhat hopeful that he might actually be ready for Hogwarts when the time came.

“What was that all about?” Gordon asked as he stepped back into the room, the smile on his face indicating that he had at least some idea.

“He’s not scared of me,” Harry responded with a smile slightly giddy with relief. “I wasn’t sure if he’d ever… I mean, you know…”

Gordon sat down in his usual chair and nodded. “That’s excellent, Harry!” He leaned back and relaxed. “How are you doing?”

“I feel better,” Harry confirmed with a nod. With a wry smile he continued, “Not so freakish.” He saw Gordon about to comment and quickly cut in, “And like I might actually be able to handle this.”

Gordon’s smile broadened to encompass his face as Harry said this. “I’m so glad, Harry. I know you’ll be able to do it.” He sat up. “Well, I think we’ve covered quite enough for one day, don’t you?”

Harry nodded. “See you tomorrow!” he replied as the older man stood up and made his way to the door.

“Yes, see you tomorrow, Harry,” he responded.

The library was quiet except for the turning of pages when he got there, everyone in their usual seats paying careful attention to their books. From the doorway he was close enough to Ron to draw some ambient energy to himself, and he imagined it to be his invisibility cloak once again. Eyes sparkling with mischief, he walked further into the room. Once he got closer to the other two, he brought their energy to him, but found it was too much to just have around himself. He nearly laughed out loud at his next idea.

Slowly, carefully, he pushed the energy out and made it surround Ron just as it was surrounding him. He wanted to be careful that it did not sense any other fleeting desires (such as for protection) and then do something that would hurt Ron. However, the process worked with the extra effort on Harry’s part, and he saw Ron disappear. He made Ron’s shield see-through once again so that he could see his best friend to move closer, but once he was right behind him, he made him invisible and then tapped him on his shoulder, his hand moving harmlessly through the energy surrounding both him and the redhead.

Harry wished he could see Ron’s expression, but his yelp was fairly expressive nonetheless. He was also in the perfect position to see Hermione and Ginny’s faces when they looked up and could not see Ron.

“Ron!” Hermione gasped. “Where are you?”

Harry put his hand over his mouth to cover any snickers that might attempt to leave his mouth. Then he started making Ron flash in and out of sight—he would come into sight for just a moment, but then disappear again.

Ginny stood up in shock at the strange sight. “What on earth?!” she wondered aloud.

Ron, meanwhile, clearly could not tell what was going on. “Someone—or something—touched me!”

Hermione seemed relieved by the fact that Ron’s voice did not go when he disappeared. “Ron, you keep disappearing and reappearing,” she informed him.

Ron looked down at his hands. “No I’m not, I’m completely solid!” he protested.

“I’m getting Mum,” Ginny said as she headed quickly for the door. Finally, Harry couldn’t keep his laughter quiet anymore. He let the fields around both him and Ron go completely clear, and collapsed to the ground in laughter.

“You—should’ve seen—your faces,” he gasped out. The others were beginning to giggle slightly, if nothing else because it was funny to see Harry so amused.

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you could make other people disappear!” Ron exclaimed, figuring out what had been going on.

Starting to get himself under control, Harry sat up. “I didn’t know… hadn’t tried it,” he replied, still chuckling. “It was definitely worth it, though.”

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked in wonder.

Harry shrugged, sobering abruptly at the reminder that this was not normal. “One of my new tricks, apparently.” He smiled slightly. “You should’ve seen Gordon the first time I did that… and Ron, for that matter!”

“You could finally give Fred and George some of their own medicine!” Ginny exclaimed in excitement. “What else can you do?”

“Erm… I’m not exactly sure,” Harry admitted. “I’ve been able to do everything I’ve tried to do so far, unless I didn’t have enough energy to work with… but there must be some limits, even when I have lots to work with.”

“So you can levitate things without a wand?” Of course it was Hermione who wanted concrete answers.

Harry chuckled. “The first time I levitated myself… right out of range! Almost had a nasty collision with the floor except that I fell right back into range and caught myself just in time.” Hermione still had her book in her hand, so with some concentration Harry took some of the energy currently swirling around Ron and directed it back toward Hermione, putting it under the book and telling it first to levitate and then to come to him. “Guess there’s no more reading today, huh?” he laughed as Hermione first watched and then realized that she had lost her book.

“Hey!” Both Ginny and Ron laughed at that.

Harry grabbed his normal chair. “So—what’s a really good prank we can pull on Fred and George? They won’t be expecting anything because they don’t know that we can do magic over the holidays.”

Everyone sat back down and they plotted to rightfully claim the Weasley twins’ title as High Pranksters of Hogwarts from Gred and Forge themselves. And they didn’t even know what was coming…

In which Harry discovers the consequences of his own actions and others’.

You are waiting on a beach

for a healing word to come

maybe an apology in a bottle

maybe a flare that says, "I'm sorry."

and the hurting leaves you numb

Harry stumbled down to the kitchen the next morning only half-awake. It was only when he felt the magic surge as he approached the occupied room that he remembered his new ‘ability,’ and his mood dropped accordingly. He focused and discovered the identities of his current benefactors of magical energy—Tonks and Mrs. Weasley. Somehow he was less than surprised given the early morning hour. Gathering the magic into a virtual invisibility cloak, he stepped into the doorway to do some magically advanced eavesdropping.

“I know it’s hard to understand,” Molly Weasley was saying, “but Arthur pointed it out to me. Did your father ever Tie you to himself or anyone else when you were a child?”

“No—my dad’s a muggle,” Tonks answered. “My mum did, though, loads of times. That’s why I decided to do that—I just didn’t expect Harry to react so strongly, or to be so darned stubborn!”

“Harry’s relatives are Muggle, N—Tonks. Arthur’s sure that’s why he reacted so strongly—the closest Muggle equivalent would be some contraption called a “handcuff,” and they only use that on criminals.”

Harry had a prime view of Tonks, which included at the moment a face that distinctly resembled a fish out of water, no metamorphmagus transformations necessary. “But—but—“ she stuttered. “Oh Merlin! I just wanted him to talk to you; I didn’t mean it like that!”

Molly nodded sympathetically. “I know that, dear, but Harry doesn’t understand. Besides, that boy doesn’t talk about anything until he is good and ready—I’ve even heard Albus complain about it.” Mrs. Weasley seemed to be torn between irritation and pride, though Harry had no idea why she would be proud.

“Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?” Tonks complained. “I just keep sticking my foot in it, over and over!”

“That does seem to be the theme of the summer,” Harry thought drily, but he remained silent to hear more.

“None of us know much about him,” Mrs. Weasley replied sadly. “Even Arthur and I, after he’s stayed at our house during several summers. He just refuses to trust adults.”

Harry found it odd to hear himself spoken of like this—it had never occurred to him that adults might actually care if he trusted them, for one thing.

“Well, now we know why, I suppose. Did it not occur to anyone to check on him?”

“What’s this, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked. Her sudden suspicion tipped both Tonks and Harry off to an important fact—no one had told the Weasley matriarch about the Dursleys, probably on purpose. Harry decided that it was time to rescue Tonks, along with his secret. He could pretend that he was coming down for breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry anymore. Instead he pounded up the stairs to attract their attention, and got the attention of one incredibly obnoxious dead woman in addition.

“Filth! Half-breeds! Blood traitors!” Sirius’ mother screeched from behind her curtain. Suddenly, Harry had a brilliant idea. Sweeping the curtain back (which only increased the volume of the screaming and the variety of the insults), he focused on the magic in the portrait as he had with the coat rack before.

Almost instantly the portrait fell with a clunk to the ground. Sirius’ mother fell silent in shock for a moment before continuing her shrieking louder than ever. “What happened to the Permanent Sticking Charm?” Tonks wondered aloud, and Harry heard the first clunks as newly awakened occupants ventured down the stairs.

Harry, however, could still feel some magic remaining in the portrait, and he hoped that removing it would silence the old hag once and for all.

The magic, however, seemed insistent on fighting back. It held firmly to the portrait and when he finally pulled it free, it lashed against him. Everything went dark for a moment and then he began to scream. His whole body, and especially his scar, felt as though Crucio were being cast upon it.

When he came back to himself, his friends and many of the adults were gathered in a large circle around him. With a great effort he pushed himself to a sitting position, avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone around him.

“Harry?” Ron asked tentatively. “You alright, mate?”

Harry smiled wearily. “’m fine, mate.” He tried to pull himself to his feet and failed. Ron bravely stepped forward, and his pace increased along with his confidence when there was no sudden surge of magic in the air. A moment later, he was helping Harry to his feet.

“Professor Dumbledore is coming,” Tonks said. Remus watched with a worried expression but didn’t speak, and Snape was absent, for which Harry was very thankful.

“He doesn’t need to come,” responded Harry in a voice just above a whisper. “i did something idiotic, but I’m fine.” He made toward his room and Ron kept his arm around Harry’s shoulders. Ginny and Hermione moved to follow, but Harry held up a hand. “Please,” he pleaded as they came too close. “I can’t,” he explained in a choked voice.

“It’s okay, Harry, just rest,” Ginny replied as they stopped following. Hermione nodded and he smiled weakly.

“So what happened mate?” Ron asked after Harry had collapsed onto his bed.

“I did, as Snape would say, ‘an abysmally stupid’ thing,” he responded. “I killed S-sirius’ mum.”

“You—what?” Ron asked, confused. “She was dead.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, I removed her magic from the portrait. Only problem was, her magic fought back.”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah, you were screaming something awful—and you Stunned Remus when he tried to help you.”

Harry looked up quickly. “I did?” He was surprised—he hadn’t heard anything through his screaming. Someone must have Enervated Remus before the magic stopped attacking him.

Ron nodded. “Well… I suppose I should let you rest before Dumbledore gets here,” he said hesitantly.

Someone came to the door and both boys winced as a crackle of magic swept through the room. Harry shuddered and shook his head. “I’ve gotta get out of here.”

Ron frowned. “Where will you go? They won’t let you leave Grimmauld Place, and even if you could get out, it would be dangerous.”

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. “I’ll just go to the park or something. And if the Order can’t find me when they know when I left and where I left from, how will the Death Eaters?”

Ron looked uncomfortable with this logic. “You’re going to get into a lot of trouble, Harry…” he protested weakly.

“Since when do we care about that, Ron?”

“Since my best friend went rushing into danger and I wasn’t invited along!” Ron exclaimed. He paused, obviously hoping for said invitation.

Harry sighed. “I’m not rushing into danger, Ron, and I just have to get away from all this magic! And if the Order catches me, then I’ll still be safe. Please, will you help me—just to get out the door?”

“Only if you promise not to stay out too long, even if no one catches you,” Ron replied finally. Harry nodded. “How long, then?” his best friend continued to push.

“I’ll be back for my meeting with Gordon this afternoon,” Harry compromised, though he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be back that early. “Deal?” Ron nodded and offered a half-smile.

“So what do you need?” Ron asked. Harry gave him a blank look. “You said you wanted help,” he prodded.

“Erm…” Harry thought quickly. “Go ahead and leave the room, but be at the top of the stairs when Dumbledore comes in here,” he responded finally. “Then I’ll just need you to stick with me down to the door.” Ron nodded.

“Will do, mate. Just don’t tell anyone I helped, alright?”

Harry grinned. His mood was already lifting at the idea of escape. “That’s right—Ron the perfect prefect!” He laughed out loud at Ron’s red face. “Nothing wrong with that—one of us has to have a façade of responsibility, and it certainly can’t be me!”

Ron appeared relieved when Harry referred to this new development as a façade, and after another smile he left the room. Then Harry began to prepare his deception.

When the headmaster showed up twenty minutes later, he was sitting directly next to the door to his room. He had heard Ron questioning his mother and Tonks, so he knew he was close by, if not within his range. He felt the headmaster coming before he even heard him, and immediately drew the energy around himself to make himself invisible. He knew he would have to act quickly, since he didn’t know how much the headmaster could sense the magic around him, or if he could see Harry when he was invisible.

The door opened and he slipped through just before the headmaster closed the door. His distraction had worked—he had put pillows under the covers in the classic schoolboy trick, hoping for that split second distraction wherein the headmaster thought he was in bed hiding under the covers. It wouldn’t have been such an odd reaction for him, based on his behavior recently.

Staying invisible he rushed to where he could see Ron standing watch over the corridor. He grasped his friend’s arm lightly and drew the invisibility around his friend, attempting to add a silencing charm to the mix. “Shh… walk with me, please,” he begged his best friend. Harry heard a commotion behind them, up the stairs, and kept his hold on Ron’s arm to keep him from stopping and looking back. “They just realized that I’m not in my room,” he whispered. “Thank you so much for helping me.”

“No problem, mate. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Well…” They had reached the front door. “Okay, I need you to pretend that you just saw me go out the front door, and do whatever you would do. The adults’ response should be what I need.” Ron nodded, and Harry made him visible again.

Harry watched the redhead rush over to the door and try to open it, unsurprisingly setting off an alarm. He had doubted that they would leave such a large loophole in their protections, considering how loyal his friends were to him.

Mrs. Weasley came rushing into the room and stormed toward Ron. “What are you doing, Ronald Weasley?” she roared.

“Mum, Harry just went out the door! I don’t know how he did it, he looked like he was focusing on something and then he just opened the door and ran out!”

“Oh dear,” was the Weasley matriarch’s response. Then she raised her voice to full volume, “Tonks! Headmaster!”

Tonks was the first to make it into the room, but she tripped over a coat rack and went sprawling onto the ground. As she scrambled to her feet she gasped, “What is it??”

“Ron said that Harry just went out the front door; he set off the alarm when he tried to follow!”

Tonks frowned. “How would he do that?”

Ron, ever the strategist, had apparently figured out Harry’s plan. “If you aren’t going to go after him, at least let me!” Ron demanded, snapping the two women out of their argument just as Dumbledore entered the room.

Tonks snapped into action and opened the door immediately. Harry just managed to squeeze through in between her and Mrs. Weasley. He ignored whatever Dumbledore was saying and broke into a run.

He just managed to duck behind a hedge as he went out of range of the last of them and became visible. He quickly focused on changing his appearance—red-headed with freckles and blue eyes should do it, he thought. And change the facial structure just barely.. He was glad he had changed his clothes in his room. He crawled a bit further into the neighbor’s yard before standing up and completely ignoring the commotion in the yard next door. A muggle couldn’t see anything that was happening.

“Mum, I’m going to the park!” he yelled, and then started walking without waiting for a response. A moment later he felt a magical presence approaching and prayed that the game was not up.

“Excuse me, have you seen a black-haired boy recently?”

He stopped and looked at Tonks, who fortunately for her was wearing clothes that were semi-normal. The shirt, however was for the Weird Sisters. He stared at it curiously as though he had never seen such a thing, and Tonks crossed her arms over her chest immediately to hide it. “Black-haired? Where would he have been coming from?” he asked with a frown.

“Number tw—fourteen,” she replied quickly. He gave her an interested look.

“The family next door all have brown hair, and you’re not one of them,” he frowned. He hoped that no one had paid any attention recently to the comings and goings of the muggle neighbors, since he didn’t know if he was correct.

“He’s my cousin, and we’re visiting,” Tonks replied. “Have you seen him, or not?”

Harry frowned. “No, sorry. The hedges are rather high, and I was just finishing some weeding for my mum.”

The metamorphmagus looked disappointed. “Oh well, thank you for your help.”

He nodded pleasantly. “Good luck finding him,” he replied amiably. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe…” Tonks replied dubiously, and he turned and continued walking in the direction he had been going.

When he made it around the corner and had not felt any more magical presences, he heaved a sigh of relief. His gait deteriorated slightly as his exhaustion caught up to him, but he forced himself to keep going. Four blocks later he could see a park up ahead of him, and seven blocks later he collapsed onto a swing. The playground was at the corner of a fairly large park, and was empty, presumably due to the early morning hour. Wearily he held the chain and leaned his head against his arm.

He never actually closed his eyes, but his attention drifted enough that he failed to be aware of children beginning to arrive at the park. He came to himself when he felt a tap of magic against his aura. It was odd because the tap did not herald the entrance of someone into his magical space, but was instead an isolated event. He started to frown in confusion before realizing that the loud voice in the back of his mind was actually coming from the woman in front of him.

“—listening to me?” she was questioning at a near yell. “I’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes! Clear out and let the kids have the swing—that’s what it’s there for, not for vagrants to sleep on!”

His brain finally registered that she was not so politely asking him to leave the playground. He gave her the benefit of the doubt and assumed she had been more polite at the beginning, when he had not heard her.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he responded, ducking his head submissively as he nearly leapt out of the swing. “I must have fallen asleep—I didn’t mean to keep the kids from the swings.” He looked around and saw that there were indeed kids in the plural; the park had apparently filled in his mental absence. The woman nodded, satisfied, and he walked stiffly from the playground under her watchful eye.

He was tempted to collapse immediately on the grass once he had left the sandbox, but when he remembered the strange tap of magic he decided against that. He still couldn’t feel anyone or anything magical in his vicinity, but that could change. He certainly didn’t want to risk drifting off or actually falling asleep, unless he wanted to wake up back in Grimmauld Place.

Another tap, a bit harder this time. It was almost as though someone were trying to wake him up or get his attention, except that didn’t seem to be the magic’s intention. He tried to question it as to what its intention was, but it was gone before he could try. Not that he was certain that such a thing would work; he’d commanded magic (at least that was how he thought of it) but never tried to converse with it. Perhaps he was simply going insane. That seemed like a plausible option, now that he thought about it.

Well, if he were going to go insane, he’d rather do it in a more private location. With this in mind, he began meandering his way toward a nearby grove of trees, carefully not quickening his pace. He had no interest in attracting anymore attention like that of the woman who had just finished scolding him.

Another tap. He scowled; he had wanted to get away from magic for a reason. This tapping was a bit like prodding at a gaping wound, and felt about as pleasant. Despite his best efforts he sped up slightly as he neared the trees, which ended up being a good thing. No sooner had he reached a tree than he ducked behind it as he felt a magical presence come into his range directly behind him. Tonks.

His control over the magic around him was rapidly waning, but he thought he had enough energy left in him for a few more tricks. First, to prank Tonks a bit. She deserved whatever she got from him, and besides it would help establish that she had no right to try to control him and soon would be unable to do so, magically or not.

The next pulse came, and he captured it for a split second, long enough to recognize it for what it was—a tracking charm. He redirected it so that when it returned to Tonks, it would tell her that he was in the other direction. At the same time, he also released his metamorphmagus disguise, worried about holding it while she was so close and using tracking charms.

He peeked around the tree. He could not see Tonks, which was unsuprising since he could sense a magical object surrounding her, presumably an invisibility cloak. However, he could see a dog just on the other side of where he guessed her to be. He snickered under his breath when he heard Tonks incredulous voice ask, “Harry?” If only he really were an animagus, a dog like Si—

Tonks had spun around at his snicker. “Very funny, Harry,” she complained irritatedly from underneath the cloak. She began striding toward the trees, and Harry retreated quickly to keep her (and her magic) from getting too close. Once she had entered the grove of trees and was out of sight, he called on the magic for one more favor. A moment later, her cloak was in his hand.

“What—Harry, you’re not supposed to do magic! It’s the holidays!” Tonks exclaimed in surprise.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. He held up his hands in front of him, one of which was holding the cloak and the other of which was empty. “Look, Mum, no wand,” he replied sarcastically.

Tonks was obviously trying to look stern, but all she was really managing was worried and slightly irritated. “What were you thinking, running away like that??” she scolded. She took another couple of steps forward, and Harry took a few more steps back and sank to the ground with his back against a tree.

“Don’t come any closer if you don’t want to be Stunned,” he warned wearily. He frowned. “You couldn’t even let me have a few hours without magic, could you?”

“Harry, you’re not safe out here. Come back to headquarters with me and we can discuss this.”

“I was planning on going back to headquarters, but not now,” he replied shortly. “You ruined my break. Speaking of which, could you back up a few more steps?”

Tonks frowned. “No, Harry, I can’t. Now come on, stop acting like a spoiled brat and come with me. Or would you rather I set Mad Eye Moody on you?”

Harry shrugged. “Set whomever you want on me; I don’t care.” He raised an eyebrow. “What happened to threatening me with Snape?”

A grin spread across her face. “He’s… err… indisposed, at the moment.” Harry wondered what she was so excited about. “Whatever he did to you, Dumbledore was quite hacked off at him.”

Harry gave a weary, lopsided shrug. “Cast Legilimens on me,” he answered in a flat voice. “Nothing he didn’t do many times before, just this time Dumbledore wasn’t so happy.”

Tonks didn’t look very happy either. “That—“ she began, and then cut herself off. “Well, nevermind. He’s not at headquarters at the moment, which is all that matters. Now, stop distracting me. Everyone is quite worried about you, young man.”

If she thought her Molly Weasley impression was going to get better results from him, she was sorely mistaken. “I’m more worried about you,” he replied dangerously. “If you don’t step back fairly soon, you may end up unconscious.”

Tonks’ tone mirrored his own, turning suddenly dark. “Are you threatening me, Harry James Potter?” she demanded, stalking closer to him. He didn’t often see her Auror persona, but he assumed this was it. After all, a bubbly personality wasn’t likely to cow Death Eaters and other dark wizards.

He was a bit busy with other matters, however, like trying to keep the magic from going after her. “Tonks,” he began in a strained voice, closing his eyes tightly as he concentrated on keeping the magic still. He was too tired to draw it around himself as he normally did; it was as though this whole ability required a muscle of sorts, and he had thoroughly exhausted it.

“I’m hardly scared of you, Potter,” she replied. “Now come on, we’re going home.” She stepped forward again, presumably moving toward him to pull him to his feet.

“Stop!” he demanded in a strangled voice. He continued to speak slowly in the same strained voice. “I am exhausted, and can no longer control the magic, Tonks,” he said as though speaking to a small child. “If you don’t back off, it is liable to stun you, and I will be unable to revive you.” He breathed slowly and focused on keeping himself calm. A part of him wanted to just let the magic stun her and then leave her here to fend for herself, but a larger part of him knew that he couldn’t do that. She could be found by Death Eaters.

“Okay, okay, I’m backing off,” Tonks replied, and he could feel that she was doing just that. Finally she had backed up enough that she was out of his range entirely, and he relaxed visibly and opened his eyes to see her standing perhaps fifteen feet away from him, near the edge of the grove. She looked surprised and slightly worried. “What is going on with you, Harry?”

“What happened to ‘Potter’?” he replied sardonically. “I thought you weren’t scared of me?”

“Please, Harry,” she replied, a bit of desperation in her voice. “If I found you I was supposed to get you back to HQ by any means necessary, but I refuse to force you again. But if I—“

“Why?” he interrupted quickly, his brow furrowed.

“Why what?” Tonks replied, confused.

“Why not just force me again? Not that I want you to,” he added quickly.

Tonks sighed heavily. “Because, it’s not right. You don’t deserve to be treated the way we’ve been treating you, and I wouldn’t blame you if you kept trying to run away if we continue.” She quirked one corner of her mouth up in a half smile. “You’ve at least one convert. If I can convince any of the other adults to stop trying to control you like a three-year-old, I will do my best.”

“Oh good,” Harry murmured absently, “because I really need a nap.” His weariness finally overtook him and his eyes slipped closed.

When he awoke, he was pleasantly surprised to find that he was in the place he had fallen asleep. He had been certain that for all her talk, Tonks would not be able to resist when presented with his sleeping form and would transport him immediately back to Grimmauld Place. Unless… He sat up quickly to assure that there were no Stunned forms anywhere near him, and saw Tonks sitting patiently against a tree trunk not far from where she had been standing when he fell asleep.

“You’re still here,” he noted groggily. “We’re not there…”

“I told you that I wasn’t going to force you anymore… Though I would have preferred that you wait to take a nap until we had returned to Grimmauld Place. We’re both going to have a lot of explaining to do.”

Harry squinted up at the brightness above his head. “What time is it…?”

“12:30,” Tonks replied simply. She stood to her feet. “What say we get back to headquarters before either one of us is in more trouble?” she was obviously trying for casual but there was a great deal of hopefulness in her voice as she finished. Part of him, the part that felt she deserved anything regardless of whether she had changed her mind, was glad that she was having to be patient.

Then his eyes widened. “My meeting with Gordon’s at one o’clock, and I promised R—I promised I’d be back for that!” he quickly amended his statement to protect Ron. He didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble; he was already in enough as it was, and for no good reason, it seemed.

“Can I… come closer, now?” Tonks asked hesitantly, taking half a step toward him.

Harry sighed. “I hope so, or else going back to Grimmauld Place will be a disaster.” He nodded that she could move forward more quickly, and wearily gathered her energy to him as she walked. His nap had apparently allowed his ‘muscles’ just enough rest for them to start working again, though it was less than pleasant.

Tonks held out a hand to help him to his feet, and he took it. He then hesitated before following her. A moment later he looked down at his empty hands. “Tonks…? What happened to the invisibility cloak?”

“Summoned it while you were sleeping,” Tonks replied shortly. “’s in my pocket now.” He nodded and returned to the silence that she apparently preferred.

As they neared Grimmauld Place he began to fall behind Tonks, unconsciously slowing his return and using her as a shield for the anger that he knew was coming. Tonks, in turn, stopped and turned toward him. “Look, Harry. I may be treating you more like an adult instead of trying to control you, but I’m not going to try to protect you from the consequences of your actions. You earned them.”

Harry shuddered very slightly. “But… can you let me get up to my room and have my meeting with Gordon first..? I just… I don’t know how I can deal with all the… all the m-magic.” He shuddered again, a little more obviously this time.

Tonks watched him worriedly. “I think I can do that, Harry. I’ll have to tell everyone that you’re home, but I can keep them away from your room for a short while. Just… work this out, alright?” Harry nodded miserably and then lowered his head and moved slowly toward headquarters as one condemned.

Harry gasped slightly as they came into view of Grimmauld Place, gaining himself a strange look from Tonks that he refused to dignify with a response. He kept moving and managed to make it to his room, turning him and Tonks invisible on the way. There, she turned around to discuss the situation with the adults, and he sat stiffly on his bed and gripped the covers with white knuckles and tried to control his breathing, a suddenly difficult task. He had promised to be back to talk with Gordon, but he was strangely relieved that the man was not there at the moment.

“Harry?” He nearly pulled the comforter off his bed as he jumped at the muggle’s voice. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Ran away,” he replied tersely after he had recovered. Catching his breath was strangely difficult.

Gordon nodded. “I know, Harry. But what’s wrong right now? You don’t look so good…” The man sat down on the bed next to him and he instinctively flinched away from him.

He shook his head. “Leave me ‘lone,” he managed between quick breaths.

“Harry,” Gordon said concernedly, “you’re not breathing right. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he cried in frustration, but the light shaking of his body belied his words. He shook his head.

The psychiatrist moved closer; his attempts to move away were hampered by his death grip on the sheets. Gordon put his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Breathe, Harry. Slower now, you can do it..”

Finally, Harry started to get his breathing under control. In fact, he was feeling as though he might just manage to avoid making more of a fool of himself than he already had, when Gordon said kindly, “It’s alright, Harry. No one’s going to hurt you…” Something about the sympathy in the man’s voice when he was already so weary and off kilter broke something inside of him. He began to sob—he wasn’t crying, just giving great, hiccoughing sobs. Gordon held him gently and murmured comforting words to him, but he could hardly hear him.

Terrified was what he had been—what he still was, if he was honest with himself. What on earth were they going to do with him for running away? They were deciding his fate downstairs, and here he was cowering in abject fear. He took several deep breaths in place of sobs and began to pull himself under control again.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong now, Harry?” Gordon asked.

Harry opened his mouth to reply. “I j-just—“ he managed before another sob escaped him. What was wrong with him? “I d-don’t want to be in t-tr-trouble,” he managed, suppressing two more sobs as they began to start.

“Shush, Harry, it’s okay,” Gordon comforted. “What are you afraid is going to happen?”

“I don’t kn-know,” he admitted frustratedly. “I’m just scared!”

Gordon opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted by a knock on the door, which caused Harry to sit bolt upright. The older man gave him a concerned look and then stood. “I’ll tell whoever it is that we need a few more minutes.”

“No!” Harry exclaimed. He’d already embarrassed himself enough for one day. “I’m fine,” he insisted, his voice as hard as he could make it. “I’m fine,” he repeated slightly more firmly.

Gordon sighed but acquiesced. “Alright, Harry, but can we talk more later?” Harry shrugged uncomfortably, avoiding the man’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Harry.”

“Later,” he mumbled, and then watched the floor intently as Gordon’s footsteps left and those of another entered.

“Harry, we’ve been discussing your punishment. You can’t just run away like that…” Remus began, and then trailed off. Harry continued to grip the comforter tightly, trying to hide the fact that he was shaking slightly. “Harry, are you alright?” he asked, his tone different.

“Fine,” Harry insisted.

“No you’re not, you’re terrified of something.” Soft footsteps padded closer. “What is it, Harry?”

“Just get it over with!” Harry pleaded.

Remus sighed. “Very well. For your punishment, you will be reading from this book this afternoon and possibly tomorrow in the empty room above the library. Various people including myself will be supervising you.”

Harry looked up in surprise, his grip slackening slightly. “That’s.. that’s all?”

Remus smiled grimly. “I doubt you will find it enjoyable, Harry.” He glanced back at the door. “Molly’s on her way up with lunch, and then you can get started.”

“Al-alright,” Harry managed, his tone bewildered. His punishment was… to read from a book?

A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.

– Saul Bellow

A moment after having hurried from the room on Albus’ orders and slamming the door closed behind him, Snape spun around to stare at the door, clenching his fists in fury. He *hated* that stupid boy—that stupid Potter. The arrogant, idiotic brat always had this effect on him, and *Snape* was always the one who got in trouble, never Potter. He shuddered slightly as the headmaster’s expression floated to the front of his memory for a moment; he didn’t think he’d ever seen the man so mad at him, and certainly not anytime in the last decade.

A less-than-subtle cough pulled his angry glare from the door. He spun and sneered as he saw that Remus Lupin was seated on the stairs up to the next floor, and was now watching him with an expression somewhere between concern, amusement, and anger. The werewolf had been underfoot near constantly whenever he had been in Grimmauld Place lately; apparently the mutt’s death had awakened protective instincts in him, and the best way he could find to protect Potter was to get in Snape’s way as much as possible. The Potions Master sharpened his glare for a long moment on the man, before spinning and stalking in the opposite direction, down the stairs to his Potions lab.

*His* potions lab, he repeated to himself with a sneer, but the infuriating boy had infiltrated even this space. To ‘learn potions’ he had claimed, and then he had made an irritatingly Gryffindor attempt to engender some sympathy in his professor by telling some sob story about how awful his life had always been with his relatives. The ungrateful brat, obviously Albus Dumbledore would never have allowed Harry to live in such conditions. He couldn’t understand how no one else could see that he was clearly playing up his injuries in order to get more attention. Likely he *had* tripped down the stairs, and probably gotten into a fight with whatever Muggle friends he had by acting the stupid, arrogant, foolish Gryffindor that he apparently couldn’t escape.

Slamming the door to his Potions lab open and then closed again just as quickly, Snape eyed the shelves dangerously. He resisted his first urge, which was to grab something suitably breakable and hurtle it at the wall. He prided himself on being intelligent and unemotional, and he would *not* let the boy undermine that any longer. Even if he *did* look like his father and make Snape alternately want to shrink back into the shadows or attack him with full force and in as embarrassing and public a way as possible.

A vial had found its way into his hand, and Snape had to drop it onto the table when he realized he was about to shatter it by the sheer force of his grip. He couldn’t replace the root of Asphodel it contained, nor put himself at the mercy of any of the occupants of the house if he managed to damage his wand hand sufficiently. They were all angry at him, convinced that it was all *his* fault that Potter was dangerously underweight and the dose he had been given (the right amount for a thirteen-year-old!) had been too much. It was obvious to *him* that it was *Potter’s* fault for not having eaten while he was staying at home. Probably another ploy to get attention—he had wanted to come and live at the mutt’s house with his friends and adults to fawn over him, and would the werewolf ever be able to leave him at home if he was clearly emaciated? Of course not!

With practiced movements, Snape retrieved a cauldron and ingredients, not even consciously considering what he was going to make. His anger kept him moving with frustrated jerks rather than his usual graceful movements, but he tried to take his anger out by powdering the root of Asphodel that he had earlier held with excessive force. In some potions (including the Draught of Living Death) the care taken to reduce the ingredients to exactly the right consistency affected the strength of the final product. With the way that he was making sure that even the powder was powdered, he knew that this would be a particular strong draught.

When that process was finally completed, the adrenaline of his anger was leaving him, and he was beginning to move shakily instead of in angry, jerking movements. The import of having Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore furious with him was beginning to sink in. He had narrowly averted this disaster previously by being the one to admit to the headmaster that he *had* made a mistake, but was prepared to correct it. Since the elder man knew how rare it was for him to admit having made a mistake, he had given him the benefit of the doubt about his behavior. Apparently, though, he had crossed a line that he hadn’t even known was there by casting Legilimens on the boy.

He paced back and forth as he waited for the infusion of Wormwood to be ready, nervously slipping his wand back and forth between his hands, needing the movement to distract him. How would the headmaster punish him? One horrifying possibility came immediately to mind—the old wizard might *demand* that he apologize to Potter. He quickly pushed that thought away; it wasn’t really Dumbledore’s style to try to force apologies. He would be much more likely to wait until the offending wizard felt the apology necessary—one reason why Snape had never gotten his much deserved apology from Sirius Black for nearly killing him. And now the mutt had gone and gotten himself killed. At least there was *some* fairness in the fact that he had outlived the idiot Gryffindor, but Snape could not be satisfied by a glorious Gryffindor death in battle for the Azkaban escapee. There would have been so much more delicious irony if the mutt had had his throat slit in the night by his disillusioned House Elf Kreacher. Or been mauled to death “accidentally” by his dear werewolf.

“Severus.”

Snape froze. How long had Dumbledore been there, watching him pace back and forth and worry his wand like an eleven-year-old? Slowly, he turned, and saw not only the headmaster, but also Lupin, standing in the door watching him, both with grim expressions on their face. “Yes, Headmaster?” he replied as evenly as he could, desperately holding on to his urge to make a snide comment or at least sneer at his ex-colleague.

“We need to discuss your behavior,” replied the old man in his gravest voice, nearly sending a shiver down Severus’ spine.

“We?” he prodded carefully, sparing a glance at the werewolf. Surely Dumbledore wasn’t considering scolding him in front of the other man, was he?

“Remus has some concerns as well, which he has convinced me are better brought up now.” Snape’s eyes met Dumbledore’s and he fought desperately not to lower his gaze from the onslaught of frustration, anger, and sadness from the one man whom he trusted and was trusted by in return. He swallowed uncomfortably.

“Y-yes?” he managed finally, his entire body tensed for the onslaught.

Instead of responding, Dumbledore let the silence stretch for a moment while he moved the table that was not being used out of the way and conjured three armchairs. One the perfectly straight back that Severus appreciated, another was so cushioned that the headmaster was nearly falling into it when he was the first to take a seat, and the third was a nauseatingly bright pink color that Lupin examined with a dubious look before waving his wand to turn it brown and taking a seat. Fighting his urge to stay standing and pace, Snape forced himself to sit in the chair, stiffly and with as straight a back as the chair.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers and stared at Severus over them with the same expression as before. The Potions master tensed and raised his shoulders slightly in response, but carefully allowed no other reaction. His hands were folded in his lap, one gripping the other nearly tightly enough to cut off circulation. “Your behavior toward Harry is completely and utterly unacceptable, Severus.”

Snape gritted his teeth and fought not to sneer, clenching his hands even more tightly. It was always *him* that was in trouble, never ‘Perfect Potter.’

“How can we resolve this problem?”

He dug for answers for a long moment before suggesting with a sneer, “You could stop insisting that I spend time in his presence, or him in mine.”

The headmaster frowned disappointedly and began to open his mouth to speak, but Remus interjected first, apparently unable to hold on to his ‘words of wisdom’ any longer. “He’s *not* James!”

“He might as well be—just as idiotic, arrogant, and Gryffindor as the last Potter. And more spoiled, besides,” he responded with an exaggerated sneer at the werewolf, glad of the distraction.

Lupin appeared to be more shocked than anything. “How can you *say* that? After everything you’ve seen, in this summer if not before—his clothes, how emaciated he was and still is, and the bruises—and you still call him *spoiled*?” he exclaimed.

Snape shrugged confidently, not feeling particularly challenged. Smoothly, he replied, “It is not my concern if you are too *Gryffindor* to recognize such an obvious ploy for attention, but if you insist on rewarding him with what he desires, it will only continue.”

The werewolf choked on his shock and indignation for a moment. ‘Let him finish the job,’ Severus thought amusedly, but unfortunately the man recovered and managed a response. His shock seemed to have turned to anger, and a little of Snape’s confidence drained away. “A ‘ploy for attention’? Would this be like when he was ‘exaggerating’ his reaction to the Calming Draught?”

He tensed at the reminder, wishing that Lupin had not brought that up. He was already in enough trouble as it was. “I gave him the right dose for a *thirteen-year-old*. Unless I am mistaken, he is now *sixteen,* and it was a reasonable assumption based on his past behavior that he might be exaggerating his symptoms in order to get his way.”

“Sixteen, and obviously far underweight! Can’t you *see* that, and get it through your thick skull?”

“I apologize, Lupin,” he replied in a sneering tone, “but I took him at his word that he had received regular meals on most occasions. You can hardly blame me for not having considered the possibility that he was not *eating* those meals, since you clearly haven’t considered the self-same thing and insist on believing that he has simply been ‘mistreated’ by his relatives.”

The werewolf exchanged a desperate glance with Dumbledore before turning back to Snape for one last word. “You may have ‘apologized’ to me, and to Albus, but you haven’t even considered apologizing to the one who most deserves it—Harry.” He shook his head sadly, his anger apparently spent. “It wasn’t managing much to completely alienate him from you—but to destroy his ability to trust in anyone else in the house, *that* was an accomplishment, and not one to be proud of.” Snape wondered if someone could die of too much self-righteousness. If so, Lupin was in grave danger.

“Is that all?” he responded coolly.

Remus snorted in frustration and bitter humor. “Yes, Severus, that is all. I’ll leave you and Albus to discuss.” He stood quickly, every line of his body indicating his frustration, and strode from the room without a backward glance.

Rolling his eyes as he watched the werewolf attempt to stalk from the room, he muttered, “And how do *I* interfere the trust between *you* and *him,* genius?”

A sad sigh emerged from the still occupied chair, and Albus (whom Severus had almost forgotten) replied, “The same way you have also greatly interfered with the trust between me and the adults in Grimmauld Place, particularly Remus and Molly. I *trusted* you not to hurt Harry, and I pressured them into doing so as well. Harry is clearly well used to you attempting to make his life miserable, but when the rest of the adults that he is just beginning to trust begin to do the same, that is shattering. And their ability to trust *my* decisions has been affected just as surely as their trust in your own decisions, because I took your side.” He paused, his blue eyes glittering sadly as they remained fixed on Severus. “Remus was indeed correct; this is quite a mess that you have created, Severus.”

“Don’t try to blame it all on me,” Snape replied defensively, fixing his gaze on the wall rather than the headmaster’s eyes. “Potter was already angry at you and Lupin before I did anything.”

He caught the sober nod from the corners of his eyes. “Indeed, I do not intend for you to take full responsibility. Remus and I have our own issues to work out with Harry. However, that does not change the fact that your abominable behavior toward him has had consequences.”

Snape continued to stare at the wall, letting the silence stretch while he waited for the other shoe to drop. Finally, he was forced to look toward the older man and ask quietly, “And so..?”

Albus nodded grimly. “It is only common sense that you are making the situation significantly less workable, and you have made it abundantly clear that you are incapable of behaving differently toward Harry. Therefore, I need you out of the house while we attempt to work things out, hopefully with Gordon’s help.” He paused, and Severus felt his heart lift slightly. He hated having Albus angry with him, but perhaps he was going to escape with ‘only’ that as punishment, simply hiding out in his manor as he had after correcting his mistake with the Calming Draught? “However,” Snape’s heart dropped again, “we will need an additional adult in the house, I suspect, to keep things under control.” He paused, and the Potions master furiously considered where the headmaster was going with this. “Therefore, you will be replacing Nymphadora on the imminent sojourn in the Dursley’s home.” At Snape’s blank look, he reminded, “Someone will need to be there for several days while Cornelius ‘checks in’ on Harry, if you’ll recall?”

Severus actually stood up in his surprise, and immediately allowed himself to begin pacing to cover his embarrassment. “But—“ he choked out, “—the Dark Lord? And Lucius? I will be unable to respond to summons, and Lucius will certainly attempt to search me out!”

Of course Dumbledore had already considered these things; his expression remained calm as he explained. “You will inform them that I have ordered you on a mission for the Order of the Phoenix, and you cannot refuse without raising suspicions. You do not know what the mission is as of now, and I will inform you when you return from the Dursleys’ home and before you report to either Tom or Lucius what your mission entailed.”

Snape felt a headache coming on, and it was not because the infusion of Wormwood was overdone and filling the room with its pungent scent. “But—“

Albus cleared his throat to interrupt his attempt to come up with an excuse, and when he glanced at the conniving old man he saw a bit of a twinkle. “Tell me, Severus… if you are truly convinced that Harry lives with such doting relatives and all damage that we saw to him is a result of his own attention-seeking behavior, then you should be looking forward to several pleasant days, correct?”

“I suppose…” he responded slowly. “Except that I will look like Potter,” he sneered as a final excuse.

“You’ll understand how Harry feels looking like his father, then,” Dumbledore responded smoothly, standing to his feet. “Now, I believe that that lovely odor means that you had better hurry or you will have wasted rather a lot of Wormwood, and failed to replace the Draught of Living Death that you so graciously provided, so I will let you return to your work,” he excused himself smoothly. Severus muttered something incoherent that included the words “thank you,” despite the fact that he wanted to curse the old man for his dangerously Slytherin tendencies. It appeared that he was going to get to know Potter’s relatives, firsthand.

Harry had surprisingly little hunger, despite the fact that he had missed lunch while he was out. He forced himself to eat, though, slowly and methodically, his mind reminding him of the many times that the Dursleys had refused him food in punishment for some perceived wrong. He couldn’t let this food go to waste.

Several times he tried to ask Remus what the book was, but Remus kept the cover hidden and refused to answer. Harry had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Weasley when she had brought his food, and she looked stern but more upset than angry. He almost felt bad for making her worry, but then he remembered how desperate he had been for a break and how they had been treating him. And he still could have disappeared, and if the Order couldn’t find him when they *knew* he was missing, then what danger was he really in?

He sighed and set his fork down, having only eaten half of what he had been given but still not having recovered his appetite entirely from the Dursleys. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, standing to his feet wearily and waiting for Remus to respond. His father’s only remaining loyal friend glanced at him in an expression torn between a reassuring smile and a stern glare. Harry could nearly have laughed if he hadn’t still been worried about what the book was.

Remus gestured for him to lead the way, presumably so he could keep an eye on him. He stepped out of his room and was immediately ambushed by his friends.

“Where did you go, mate? You were gone forever!” was Ron’s exclamation.

“Oh, what were you *thinking,* Harry? You’re supposed to be *safe* here!” Hermione contributed. When they were done speaking in unison, Ginny chimed in.

“And what did you do for all that time?”

“To the park, where I took a nap,” he answered, hiding a grin when he glanced back and saw Remus’ shocked expression. “As for your question, Hermione,” he continued, his voice quite a bit harder, “I was *thinking* that I was never going to get a break here, and if I could escape the Order who *knew* I was missing, then I was probably relatively safe.” Hermione’s question had sounded a little too much like one of the adults for him, after everything.

“Come on, up to the room now, Harry,” Remus interjected when all three looked like they were about to speak again. “Running away has consequences,” he said to the others in his most Professor-ish voice. Harry rolled his eyes now that he was past everyone, but turned back when he heard two identical groans.

“Oh, no, Harry, not the book…” said Ginny.

“Sorry, mate… but good luck,” Ron added. Harry opened his mouth to ask what they meant, but Remus had moved up right behind him and was nudging him forward.

“Go, Harry,” he said firmly. So the dark-haired teen went, dragging his feet up the stairs to the empty room that Remus had indicated.

There he found Mr. Weasley sitting in a single chair. The rest of the room was barren, but there was plenty of space in front of Mr. Weasley. “I’ll take that, Remus,” Ron’s father said, holding out his hand for the book. Remus handed it to him, nodded, then looked to Harry.

“I’ll see you again in a little while, I’m sure.” He seemed to consider saying something else, then shrugged and left instead, closing the door behind him.

“Alright, Harry,” Mr. Weasley began, uncommonly serious. “Remus probably already told you this, but we’re giving you a punishment because we want you to know that running away is not an acceptable solution to your problems. We were very worried, and many people had to be pulled away from other duties in order to join the search for you.”

Harry huffed a sigh. “Did Tonks tell you all that I came back voluntarily? If you can’t find me and drag me back, how are Voldiewarts and his gang of incompetents going to manage?”

Arthur sighed too, though more wearily. “Do you really want to test V-Voldemort? What would have happened if he *did* find you first? And did you really expect us to just leave you out there, in danger?”

In his mind, Harry had to wonder why it was okay for him to be left to the mercy of the Dursleys but not to take care of himself when he was almost an adult as far as the wizarding world was concerned. Instead of grumbling this aloud, though, he just shrugged apathetically, wanting to get on with whatever they had cooked up for him. It couldn’t be any worse than being locked in his cupboard for days without food or being kicked around while attempting to do three days of chores in one—he hoped.

“Alright,” Arthur said again. “This is a Weasley family heirloom, Harry. Generations of Weasleys have served punishments by reading from it, and later contributed to it as adults. It has many magical enchantments on it, most important of which is the one that allows it to personalize what you are reading to what you have done and what you need to hear.” He let the silence hang, waiting for questions.

“Erm… What ever happened to ‘Never trust anything if you can’t see where it keeps its brain’?”

Mr. Weasley smiled softly. “I suppose you’re going to have to trust me at least a bit, but as I said, it is a Weasley heirloom and can only be enchanted by a Weasley, and is incapable of being enchanted to be controlling in the way that Tom Riddle’s diary was. In fact, Ginny knows that saying from this very book.”

“Oh,” Harry managed.

“Speaking of the magic, I need you to make one promise before I hand the book over to you and let you get started. Will you promise that you will not remove or alter the magic in this book? Albus has told us a little bit of your new abilities, and I don’t think they should be tested against the book—not to mention, as I’ve said, it runs in the family and I’d like to be able to pass it on intact.”

Harry shrugged, then spoke when Mr. Weasley seemed to expect a verbal response. “Okay.. I promise.”

“Good. In that case, I think you’re ready to get started.” He held the book out, and Harry hesitated before taking it. “You can just stand right there. You’ll be reading sayings, but you’ll need to wait until a title appears on the cover.” He felt a strange tingling sensation as the book’s magic interacted with his own, and he resisted retaliating or merely sucking the magic out of the book. Finally it finished, and gilded letters began to appear on the cover.

“Harry Potter is authorized to use the Weasley Family Book of Sayings,” it read. Then it vibrated in his hands, and Harry nearly dropped it—nearly, because he discovered that it was now sticking to his wand hand. He stared at it bizarrely, shaking it once, but it buzzed again, and Mr. Weasley spoke.

“Open it and follow the directions.” The buzzing was not painful, but it was uncomfortable, so Harry opened it and hoped that it would stop. It did, and fancy lettering began appearing on the page that it fell open to.

Read the saying, then repeat, he read silently. It buzzed. “Read the saying, then repeat?” he read aloud hesitantly. It disappeared, then buzzed at him again. He was getting irritated by the thing already. “Read the saying, then repeat?” he repeated, feeling horribly silly, but the book seemed pleased enough. New words appeared.

All men should strive to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why.[1] He read it aloud without thinking about it, but realized his error when the words disappear and his mind was as blank as the page. “Erm.. All men should learn to strive before they die…?” The book started buzzing at him and the saying reappeared. All men should strive to learn before they die what they are running from, and to, and why. He read it aloud, and this time he focused enough to repeat it word for word. As the words were beginning to appear again, he spoke.

“How long do I have to—“ he broke off when it buzzed irritatingly in his hands, causing him to jump. “This is so stu—“ the buzzing seemed to be becoming stronger, and Harry almost felt as though his hand should be going numb. “I’m not—“ He stomped his foot angrily, glaring at the book and then at Mr. Weasley, who smiled at him as if to say, ‘Did you think this would be fun?’ Remus *had* mentioned that he didn’t think he would find it very pleasant. He tried to focus on the next saying.

We run away all the time to avoid coming face to face with ourselves[2]. Harry read and repeated, but he didn’t agree at all. He wasn’t running away to avoid himself, he was running away to avoid others—adults that he didn’t trust.

You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment unless you trust enough.[3] Harry definitely felt like an idiot, repeating these stupid sayings to a nearly empty room. “You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment unless you trust enough,” he muttered as quietly as the book would let him—it buzzed when he became unintelligible and he was forced to raise his voice in response.

In between sayings, he looked up to see that Mr. Weasley was now reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. Then Harry noticed a bit of movement down next to his chair, and saw that it was a piece of a parchment with a quill standing up on it, waiting to write down each quote that Harry read. Angry but tired of feeling the buzzing against his hands, Harry made to take a step forward to kick the quill away instead of speaking—only to discover that he could shift his weight from foot to foot, even lift his feet off the ground one by one, but he could not move either of them forward or backward. He growled and the book buzzed more insistently, waiting for him to read the next saying.

To spare oneself from grief at all costs can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness.[4] “Life sucks,” he paraphrased angrily, trying to detach the book from his hand. Instead, his other hand stuck too. “To spare oneself from grief at all costs can be achieved only at the price of total detachment, which excludes the ability to experience happiness,” he read, this time rather louder and more angrily than was strictly necessary. However, the book didn’t buzz, so he repeated the phrase shouting at the ceiling purely for his own amusement (and to try to take his mind off the words).

“Quiet down, Harry,” Mr. Weasley admonished. Harry glared at him, willing him to hear what he was thinking: ‘If these are supposed to be good for *me*, why not for everyone else too?’ One must be fond of people and trust them if one is not to make a mess of life[5]. This one he read monotonically and then repeated sarcastically, “One must be *fond* of ‘people’ if one is not to make a mess of life.” How stupid, he was trying to convey. Mr. Weasley turned the page of the Daily Prophet and seemed to have tuned him out entirely.

Truth hurts - not the searching after; the running from![6] read the page now. Using Mr. Weasley’s extra energy, Harry focused on amplifying his voice, and then yelled, “TRUTH HURTS!” as loud as he could, his voice echoing through the house. As he muttered the rest of the saying without amplification, he smirked to hear the commotion he had caused. While was repeating, he saw that though Arthur had tried to recover, he had clearly dropped the newspaper in his startlement. Now he seemed to be rifling through his pockets for something.

If a donkey bray at you, don't bray at him.[7] Mr. Weasley had found what he was looking for—his wand. He pointed it at Harry. “Silencio!” Harry grinned at him and immediately channeled the energy to his amplification—he hardly had to yell, at this rate.

“If a donkey bray at you, DON’T BRAY AT HIM!” he exclaimed gleefully, much to the dismay of Mr. Weasley. Suddenly the door slammed open and Remus Lupin entered, wand at the ready.

“What is going on?” he exclaimed.

“If a donkey bray at you, don’t bray at him!” Harry responded, his voice still booming through the house. Remus winced dramatically and started to lift his hands as if to cover his ears. Then he stopped himself and pointed his wand at Harry.

“No!” Mr. Weasley exclaimed. “He’ll just absorb it—cast it on the *room*!” Lupin nodded and turned toward the door to do so.

Harry had mercy on his former professor, even though he had decided that his game was far from up. The spell, when reflected, came back much to fast for him to dodge. However, it was altered, care of Harry, to not only stop sound from coming *from* Remus but also to prevent sound from getting to *to* him. Satisfied that he wouldn’t damage the werewolf’s sensitive hearing, he looked back to the now buzzing book and laughed out loud.

Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?[8] The book might have been ridiculous, but at least it seemed to *know* it. “DOES A ONE-LEGGED DUCK SWIM IN A CIRCLE??” he questioned as though it were deadly important. “HUH? DOES IT?” he added in giddily, hardly noticing the buzzing the book gave him. “Does a one-legged duck swim in a circle?!” he asked again, his throat tiring from the yelling but the magical amplification still holding strong.

Harry’s eyes widened when he saw the next one. Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.[9] He read it easily enough, and was about to repeat, only to find that he had forgotten how the saying had begun. The book buzzed angrily at him, and he attempted, “Tomorrow is a new day…?” The book didn’t appreciate that. He didn’t appreciate the buzzing. He wanted to throw the book against the wall, but it still stuck just as tightly.

Tonks burst through the door as Harry began to read again. “Finish each day,” he muttered slowly, trying to hear what she said.

“What on earth?!” she exclaimed. Mr. Weasley was trying everything he could to cancel the charm on Remus, but Harry was easily reflecting each Finite Incatatem back at Arthur, where it would do no harm but no good either. “Why don’t you just cast a Silencing Charm on the r—“ she began, but Arthur interrupted.

“*Remus* tried, and you see what that got him!” Remus had turned and was babbling something at Tonks, but of course he could not be heard. “Any other bright ideas?”

“…SOME BLUNDERS AND ABSURDITIES HAVE CREPT IN,” he read with an extra flourish and some extra volume. He missed what Tonks responded to Remus, though, which could have been a problem.

“Stupefy!” she exclaimed suddenly, and the flash of light raced toward him. Just as he had with the headmaster, Harry found it easiest to reflect the spell rather than altering it or absorbing it without any preparation. Tonks was unconscious a moment later.

“Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it SERENELY AND WITH TOO HIGH A SPIRIT TO BE ENCUMBERED by your old nonsense,” he finished reading. Then he realized with a silent curse that he had forgotten the beginning AGAIN.

“Begin each day anew..?” he tried. BUZZ! went the book, and he stomped his foot angrily. “FINISH each day and be DONE with it!” he read furiously. “You have done what you could,” he continued to read, trying desperately to focus. He felt a spell impact against his barriers and reflect and refused to break his concentration to see what the result of the reflection had been; he was going to finish this! “… some BLUNDERS and ABSURDITIES have crept in; FORGET THEM as SOON as you can. Tomorrow is a NEW DAY; you shall begin it SERENELY and with TOO HIGH A SPIRIT to be encumbered with your old NONSENSE,” he finished, out of breath. Then he began to repeat as quickly as he could. “Finish-each-day-and-be-done-with-it; some-blunders-and-absurdities-have-crept-in—“ The cursed book was buzzing at him again.

“I HATE YOU ALL!!” he yelled frustratedly, and the book buzzed so sharply that he felt he could go mad. He hardly heard the exclamations of protest, as he was focusing every bit of attention he could muster on the quote. “Finish each day and be DONE with it,” he read desperately, “You have done what you could,” he realized what he had missed, and finished as quickly as he could. The commotion around him seemed to have calmed down, though maybe he was just focusing more closely. “Finish each day and be done with it,” he repeated immediately. “You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it SERENELY and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old NONSENSE!” he finished with satisfaction, and looked up to assess the situation.

A still silent and magically deaf Remus was crouched down next to an unconscious Tonks, as was Mr. Weasley. Harry had to assume that he had been the one to cast the reflected spell, and that he had been Silenced in consequence. Beyond them, by the door, were Harry’s friends; they all looked a bit worried, but Ginny and Ron looked a bit amused, while Hermione looked irritated or worried. None of them seemed at all interested in entering the room at the moment; either that, or they weren’t able to.

Mrs. Weasley had arrived, too, and was apparently taking in the situation. Harry was forced to look down to read the next saying. When degnoming, longest throw wins. Make sure you let go in the right direction[10]. He read this in his most knowledgeable tone, and gained a snort from Ron. He looked up and saw that Tonks was now waking up, and Mr. Weasley was looking in his direction with a confused expression on his face. “I’ve never seen that in there,” Ron’s father commented absentmindedly.

It was buzzing *again*. Harry was getting so sick and tired of this whole routine. And he was tired of standing. “When degnoming, longest throw wins. Make sure you let go in the right direction!” he said in a slightly more urgent tone of voice, wondering when he would be done reading and repeating.

Sometimes a scream is better than a thesis[11], Harry muttered. “Please, Harry, will you let me cast a Silencing charm on the room? Then you can yell all you like…” Mrs. Weasley appealed. Harry shook his head angrily.

“SOMETIMES a SCREAM is better than a THESIS!” he yelled, his voice cracking under the strain slightly. He swayed slightly on his feet and blinked rapidly. I hate quotations[12]. Now *that* he could yell twice—or more. “I HATE QUOTATIONS! I *HATE* QUOTATIONS! I HATE *QUOTATIONS*!” he screamed, ignoring the way his throat felt more raw each time he yelled. “I HATE QUOTATIONS!” The book was buzzing at him. “I HATE THEM, I HATE YOU, I HATE—I hate—“ He wasn’t screaming anymore, he was crying. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he shrieked at the book, shaking his hands as the book stuck to them as though it were part of him. He sat suddenly, right where he was, not moving his feet since he couldn’t. Then he looked at the next quote to read it, his eyes swimming with tears.

"Contrariwise," continued Tweedledee, "If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn't, it ain't. That's logic."[13] He giggled hysterically. “Contrariwise,” he read bemusedly, “If it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’s logic.” He giggled a little more, dislodging a few more tears. “Contrariwise… Contrariwise… Contrariwise…” he began to repeat like a mantra. The book didn’t buzz at him. “Contrariwise, contrariwise, contrariwise,” he babbled at whoever was putting his or her arm around him. “Contrariwise, contrariwise,” he continued as a weight lifted from his hands. “Contrariwise contrariwise contrariwise?” he asked esoterically. Someone was putting their hands below his knees and behind his back and picking him up. “Contrariwise,” he giggled. “I hate quotations. When degnoming, some confusions and absurdities have crept in. Contrariwise, make sure you let go in the right direction,” he finished with a smile, and laid his head against the shoulder of whomever was holding and stared at the pattern of the sweater that lay across the chest.

Author’s Notes: Thank you so much to my amazingly loyal, patient, wonderful readers! You waited so long, and I’m so sorry you had to. Had some serious real-life issues along the way, but I pressed forward and I finally have a chapter. I’m up way past my bedtime at this point, though, so there might be mistakes, especially in the first bit since it’s entirely unbetaed. The pleas for the new chapter were getting desperate, so I’m just posting and I’ll post an edited version if I manage it. Later. *posts and goes to sleep*

LIES – BREAKDOWN

“Are you *sure* we shouldn’t go check on him, Hermione?” Ron asked for the fifth time as Tonks thundered up the steps past the library toward the room where Harry’s occasionally amplified voice was coming from.

“Remus asked us to stay away; besides, do you really think Harry would want us around while he’s being punished?” Hermione replied logically. None of them were actually reading despite being in the library; they were all focused on what they could hear from the room above. Finally, after another minute or so, she said, “Explain the book, again?”

Ginny shrugged. “It’s like writing lines, only you have to say them out loud instead. It shows you a quote, you read it, and then it disappears and you repeat it.”

“What kind of quotes?” Hermione followed up immediately.

“All kinds of quotes, Hermione,” Ron answered. “Everything that’s been put in there by ten or more generations of Weasleys. The book picks them according to what it thinks you need, so it’s a better punishment than any parents could come up with, in that sense..”

“… serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered…” Harry’s voice came down from the room above, not painfully loud after travelling through walls and floors, but also not very quiet.

“Is it always this loud??”

“That’s it,” Ron said, shoving the book he had been pretending to care about to the side and standing to his feet. “I don’t care what Remus said or what you think Harry wants. Something weird is going on and I’m going up there to check it out.”

Ginny nodded and stood without saying another word, her book already having been set to the side. Hermione sighed and responded, “Remus was wrong about the Calming Draught, anyway,” and stood to follow the two Weasleys. Ginny gave a half-smile at that; it was only halved because just the mention of the Calming Draught could make any one of them upset. Usually, they avoided talking about it.

Hermione instinctively stepped lightly on the steps on their way up, even though there was no point: Ron and Ginny made more than enough noise for all three of them, and there was no way that if the adults cared to listen they would fail to hear them coming. Nor were there three other people in the house not already up here; only Mrs. Weasley remained down in the kitchen, and that was probably only at Tonks’ request.

“Finish-each-day-and-be-done-with-it; some-blunders-and-absurdities-have-crept-in—“ Hermione could make out bits and pieces of the words that Harry was running together as they approached the open door, but she couldn’t make sense of them. What on earth was this quote?

“I HATE YOU ALL!!” Harry yelled in frustration then, and Hermione froze in place, staring through the doorway at him. She knew he was upset, but this was far worse than she had feared! Harry sounded desperate as he continued to read, and she finally snapped out of her shock and moved forward, but Ron and Ginny were already standing in the doorway.

“What are you waiting for?” Hermione wondered, and Ginny turned around and snapped at her.

“The door is warded, genius!” Only an instant later her face was full of contrition. “Hermione, I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like that, I’m just frustrated,” she tried to explain. Hermione hesitated a moment before nodding her acceptance of the apology. “I don’t know what they’re doing in there…” She moved aside so that Hermione could see as well.

Harry looked to have just finished another quote, based on the look of grim satisfaction on his face, and the adults were all gathered halfway across the room from him. Tonks seemed to be unconscious already, even though she had been the last to come up, and Remus was crouched down next to her gesturing but not saying a word. Mr. Weasley had been crouched on the other side of her with his wand out, but he stood up now with a glance toward the door.

“Ginevra and Ronald, get away from the door this instant!” snapped Molly Weasley from behind the three of them, and Hermione scrambled to get out of the way just as quickly. The motherly woman walked right through the ward on the door and the students gathered around the doorway again.

“When degnoming, longest throw wins. Make sure you let go in the right direction,” Harry read in a tone that indicated that he knew *exactly* what he was talking about. Ron snorted and Hermione spared half a second to glance at him before looking back in to see what was going on.

Mrs. Weasley was discussing something in low tones with Mr. Weasley while Remus crouched next to Tonks but was watching Harry intently. Harry muttered the next quote too quietly for anyone to make out, and then Mrs. Weasley was stepping closer to him. “Please, Harry, will you let me cast a Silencing charm on the room? Then you can yell all you like…” she pleaded.

Hermione was surprised at Harry’s reaction. She hadn’t seen any large displays of temper from him yet this summer, but this definitely qualified. “SOMETIMES a SCREAM is better than a THESIS!” he yelled, his voice cracking under the strain slightly. He swayed slightly on his feet and blinked rapidly. Hermione could see that he was close to breaking down.

“Mrs. Weasley!” she hissed, but the woman didn’t hear her. She was about to call again when Harry began to yell again.

“I HATE QUOTATIONS! I *HATE* QUOTATIONS! I HATE *QUOTATIONS*! I HATE QUOTATIONS!” He shook the book in his hands, and Hermione realized that it had to be magically-attached to them somehow. Well, of course Harry wouldn’t like that, after being forced to write in his own blood for the past year! “I HATE THEM, I HATE YOU, I HATE—I hate—“

Suddenly Harry wasn’t screaming, he was crying instead. Molly Weasley took a step toward him and then Arthur called her back. Reluctantly she took a step back to where she had been and watched as Harry shrieked at the book. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he repeated, shaking the book in his hands. Abruptly he sat, right in place, his feet not even moving. It was a strangely fluid motion despite his distress, but Hermione had never seen him so close to tears. She tried once again (and failed) to step through the doorway. Tonks was still laying unconscious and all the conscious adults seemed torn between moving toward Harry and giving him his space.

“Help him!” Hermione tried to scream, but it barely came out a whisper. Harry was giggling hysterically, and she glanced over to see that Ginny and Ron were standing in remarkably similar postures, both of them clenching their fists as their sides and staring into the room, worry mixed with helplessness. “Contrariwise, if it was so, it might be; and if it were so, it would be; but as it isn’t, it ain’t. That’s logic,” Harry read, still giggling. Hermione thought she might see a tear tracking down her face, and was shocked that he didn’t try to wipe it away instinctively, as he normally did. Instead, he just continued to repeat the same thing, over and over again. “Contrariwise… Contrariwise… Contrariwise…”

Finally, *finally* Remus jumped to his feet and made his way to where Harry was. He slowed as he got closer, but then seemed to gain confidence and knelt down beside Harry to put his arm around the teen. Hermione exchanged glances with Ron and Ginny when Harry leaned into the embrace instead of withdrawing as he had from all their attempts at contact since they had first seen him on his birthday. Then Hermione gaped as Remus easily pulled the book out of Harry’s hands and threw it across the room.

When Ron and Ginny didn’t seem surprised, she nudged Ron. “Why didn’t they just take the book out of his hands before??”

“Couldn’t,” Ron mumbled absentmindedly. “The book decides when the punishment is over.” He and Ginny were watching as Remus tried to get their father’s attention, but Arthur was too focused on waving his wand over the Weasley family heirloom in a complicated pattern of scanning spells. Both the Weasley children appeared to have forgotten that *they* had not lost their voices as Remus had, and Hermione was about to call out when Remus successfully got Molly Weasley’s attention and mouthed words to show her that he had been silenced.

As Molly moved to try to help Remus, she snapped out Mr. Weasley’s name. “Revive Tonks!” she ordered, and then began trying to find the countercurse, since Finite Incantatem did not seem to be working. Fortunately, Arthur’s job with Tonks was much easier, and she sat up in confusion and took everything in for a moment—Remus, Molly, Arthur, and the teens standing just outside the door.

“Gordon!” she exclaimed suddenly, in an apparent non-sequitur. “He’s outside taking a walk!” She jumped to her feet and almost immediately tripped and nearly fell flat. She caught herself, barely, and then rushed through the door, the teens only barely managing to get out of the way before she barreled through them and down the stairs. Hermione held her breath waiting for the metamorphmagus to stumble and fall, but she made it down safely and the front door slammed closed behind her.

It took several more minutes and both Arthur and Molly to successfully reverse the spell silencing and deafening Remus. Hermione hadn’t even realized that the werewolf couldn’t hear anything, but realized that she should have since he should have flinched otherwise at the high volume in his sensitive ears.

“Harry? Harry?!” Remus called several times, more frantically each time. Harry’s head turned slightly but that was his only reaction: Hermione could see that his eyes were somehow blank in a way she’d never seen them, and she shuddered. Remus then tilted his head up to glare at the Weasley patriarch. “What’s wrong with him?” he demanded with a snap.

But Mr. Weasley just shook his head. "I don't know, Remus.. I've never seen *anyone* react this way, or even close to this! The book is harmless; I was sure of it!" Hermione winced; even without having seen Remus’ reaction, she knew that was the wrong thing to say.

"Well, you were wrong," Remus replied with a growl. "How could it possibly be harmless if it reduced Harry to *this*? And how are we going to get him back, now?"

Arthur held his hands out as though to physically calm the man. "I don't know, Remus… I don’t know what's happened. But I will do everything in my power to undo whatever it is," he answered earnestly.

Pounding footsteps sounded up the stairs, and Hermione turned to see Gordon appearing at the top of the stairwell. She stepped out of the way and pulled Ginny out of the way as well, but Gordon couldn’t enter through the doorway any easier than they could. “Dammit!” he swore under his breath, taking in the scene inside before taking a deep breath and turning. “Nymphadora, how do I get in the room?” he asked in a more pleasant tone.

“With me,” she responded, finally coming to the top of the stairs herself. From the way she was limping Hermione guessed she had taken a fall on the way in or up. She moved quickly nonetheless, moving forward to take the psychologist’s arm and then walking through the doorway and pulling him through.

"What happened?” Gordon asked the room at large. “I was out taking a walk and Tonks came and got me!" He took in the scene in front of him and crouched down in front of Remus and Harry almost immediately. "Harry?"

When there was no response from Harry, he looked to Remus. "How long as he been unresponsive? What triggered this?"

Remus shook his head. "The book," was all he managed, choking slightly on even those few words. Gordon looked up at Molly and Arthur for answers.

"I was all the way down in the kitchen and didn't hear his yelling at first," Molly admitted. "When I did hear the commotion, I came up to find Tonks unconscious, Remus silenced and deafened, and Arthur not sure what to do, nor do I blame him. I don't know what happened--it was a simple punishment, and Harry's not usually a violent boy."

“If that’s a simple punishment, I’d hate to see something complicated,” Gordon muttered half under his breath. He looked around the room and took in the fact that everyone in the house was here—the children still held back by some invisible force at the door, Tonks just behind him, Remus still holding the unresponsive Harry close, and Molly and Arthur standing above them. He hesitated for a moment before coming to a decision.

“Harry needs space,” he said decisively, despite knowing that this could not go well. “Remus, do you need help getting him to his room?”

Remus finally responded, shaking his head as he stood to his feet without setting the teen down. Gordon watched as Harry tightened his hold on Remus’ sweater to the point that his knuckles whitened slightly. Remus hugged him slightly closer in response. “So light..” he said absentmindedly. Gordon frowned in response but set that aside for the moment, promising himself to get back to it (along with a great many other things) when Harry had recovered.

“Come on,” Gordon said, and began moving out of the room. Nymphadora, Arthur, and Molly all began to follow, and the children at the door crowded around so much that Remus was forced to hesitate. “I *said* that Harry needs space!” Gordon snapped slightly before taking a deep, calming breath. His burst of anger had the desired effect, though, as everyone (except Molly Weasley) backed off slightly and Remus was able to push past the teens and continue toward Harry’s room. “Everyone go down and wait in the kitchen. I’ll be down in a while.”

Gordon shook his head when no one moved except to open their mouths to protest, presumably why each one of them should be allowed to help Harry. Gordon rolled his eyes in irritation. “Who am I kidding? Clearly a pitiful Muggle such as myself can’t convince any of you of anything,” he said bitterly, not below manipulating them in an urgent situation. “Well, I’ll put it this way—if you want to help Harry, for once, you will *all* give him the space he needs. If you do, then hopefully I can remedy whatever damage you’ve managed to do and you will be able to have a conversation with him in the near future. If not…” He left the sentence hanging and stormed up the stairs to the next floor, pausing halfway to take another deep breath before continuing more calmly to Harry’s room.

Gordon closed the door as soon as he entered, and Remus looked up from his position on the bed. He had sat down and appeared to be trying to disentangle Harry from himself, but Harry's only response seemed to be to cling more tightly. "What is he muttering?" Gordon asked, hearing that Harry was saying something but not able to make it out.

"Contrariwise," replied Remus. "It's the only thing I've heard him say, since they ended the spell deafening me." Remus sighed, and then said, "I'm sorry about earlier, but I was just so.. worried. Is there any way I can help, or do you want me out of here, just like everyone else?"

Gordon was surprised that Remus had heard him. He had spoken harshly, but had not raised his voice much if at all. He pushed the surprise aside. “I think Harry would rather there be fewer people around when he recovers, don’t you?” was his reply, with a raised eyebrow.

Remus looked reluctant but moved immediately, setting Harry down so that he was sitting next to him and then moving to stand up. His motion was halted, however, when Harry did not release his sweater and said, "Don't go!" His voice was pleading and childish, but not demanding. Remus sat back down on the bed quickly and glanced at Gordon for instruction as Harry leaned into him and clenched his sweater tighter.

Gordon pulled a chair up so that he was a few feet away from the bed facing Harry. "Okay, Harry, he's not going anywhere," Gordon replied calmly. "You're safe, Harry. You’re in your room, in Grimmauld Place, with me, Gordon, and Remus. We're safe here with you."

"No," Harry replied in the same childish voice. "Contrariwise, contrariwise."

"Contrariwise," Gordon repeated, his voice gently leading. Harry shook his head once and leaned into Remus harder. They sat in silence for several long minutes, Remus slightly stiff for fear that any movement might disturb whatever Gordon was doing.

"Scared," Harry admitted finally, squeezing Remus' sweater in a death grip that turned his knuckles white. Remus took a chance and reached his arm around to encircle Harry's shoulders, and Gordon nodded to approve the gesture. Remus relaxed slightly, and Harry did too, though he didn't loosen his grip on Remus' sweater.

"I can see why you would be scared, Harry. This stuff is very hard to understand, but we have some time that we can take to talk about it now," replied Gordon, his voice still calm but warm and soothing. Remus felt himself relaxing instinctively at the tone.

Harry shook his head slightly more forcefully, and didn't say anything more despite several more minutes of silence. Gordon had an intent expression on his face, his brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Finally, the psychologist shifted slightly and took a deep breath before beginning to speak in a quiet, level voice.

"You're safe here now, Harry, and so I want you to join us in the present by becoing aware of the room where we are; become aware of Remus' sweater that you're holding onto, and the feel of his arm around your shoulder, and the bed that you're sitting on, and the sound of my voice. Bit by bit, you're coming back into the present so you can talk quietly with us here."

Harry's posture shifted ever so slightly. "Remus?" he said in a small voice. "I'm scared."

Remus glanced at Gordon before saying as calmly as he could, "That's alright, Harry.. It's understandable that you're scared. This is difficult stuff, I know.." Remus tried to remember what Gordon had said before. "But we can talk about it, now.." He looked at Gordon again and Gordon nodded, only briefly making eye contact with Remus before looking back to Harry.

"No," Harry replied. "Don't want to."

"Most people don't like to talk about why they're scared," replied Gordon, and he let the statement hang for a moment. When Harry glowered at the floor but didn't respond, he continued, "I wonder what happened, earlier. I was out on a walk..."

"Too much.. it's too much..!" Harry responded, breathing a little faster. Remus squeezed Harry’s shoulders lightly in an attempt to comfort him and tried not to let his breathing speed with the teen’s.

Gordon took several deep breaths until Harry followed along, relaxing slightly. "Too much," Gordon repeated eventually. "I wonder what was too much.."

"Couldn't leave.. couldn't move.. stupid book..!"

"Most people find having a lot of people around stressful.. I wonder if that made it worse, Harry," Gordon prompted again. Remus looked up and him and frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything.

Harry nodded. "Everyone around.. panicking.." He shuddered.

"Everyone was panicking around you.." Gordon repeated.

Harry hid his face against Remus' sweater, nodding slightly in response. Gordon let the silence stretch slightly again before asking, "What about your magic, Harry?"

Harry moaned slightly. "Make it stop... too much... Please..."

Remus ruffled Harry’s hair as the boy continued to hide his face, wishing there was something he could do to help. Gordon replied, "I can't do that, Harry.. nor would I want to. Lots of people feel overwhelmed when things change suddenly, especially as much as they have changed for you. That's why I want to talk about it."

When Harry shrugged but didn't say anything in response, he suggested, "I’m confused about what happened after I left. I think I saw Molly coming up with lunch for you.."

“Ate lunch; then…” Harry paused with a light shudder. “Upstairs..” Remus frowned at the fact that Harry was still speaking in stilted, incomplete sentences, but Gordon shook his head slightly when they made eye contact and he stayed silent.

"You ate the lunch Molly brought you, and then you went upstairs.." Gordon rephrased, leaving the statement open-ended but not pushing Harry to continue.

“Upstairs… Remus… the book…”

Gordon smiled encouragingly, winking at Remus when they made eye contact again. This caused a small smile to appear on Remus' face--if Gordon was happy, it was probably for good reason. "You went upstairs with Remus, who brought the book," Gordon attempted to clarify.

Harry shook his head once, frustrated. “No! Remus… the book…” Harry's hand spasmed on Remus' sweater and Remus suspected that it would be permanently stretched by this misadventure. He didn't mind that, though, if Harry recovered properly; already he could see progress, however slow. "Give.." He nudged Remus to indicate that he should tell Gordon.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Gordon caught his eye and shook his head. "I was wondering what happened to *you*, Harry, not to Remus," he responded gently.

Harry sagged slightly in defeat and silence reigned in the room for a long moment before he finally said, "Remus.. the book.. give.. give me.." Harry's knuckles were white again and he burrowed his face against Remus' side.

"You're doing such a good job, Harry," Gordon encouraged bracingly. "Lots of people find it hard to put things in full sentences or make themselves understood when they are overwhelmed with emotions, but talking about it will help you deal with those emotions.”

Remus watched as Harry seemed to grasp on to that promise like a lifeline. The teen’s hand loosened from its death grip on his sweater and the teen sat up slightly. “Remus—Remus told me to read the book,” Harry continued finally, his voice still hesitant but much closer to his normal tone.

“Remus told you read from the book,” Gordon repeated with a nod. “I was wondering what the book was like, Harry… Arthur, Mr. Weasley, said it was a bit like writing lines.”

Both Gordon and Remus were startled when Harry suddenly pulled his hand back from Remus’ sweater and held it to his chest, rubbing the back of it with his other hand continuously. Gordon looked at Remus, who was forced to shrug since he was as much in the dark as the psychologist. “No..” Harry moaned. “No more lines.. I wasn’t lying..!”

“Harry..? Is there something wrong with your hand?” Gordon questioned. Harry froze and shook his head but didn’t uncover the back of his right hand. “May I—I wonder if I might be able to see it,” he continued after Harry didn’t seem interested in saying or doing anything more.

As Harry extended his hand shakily out to show Gordon, Remus couldn’t stop himself from gasping. How had he not seen the scar before? Though the scar was thinner in some places and thicker in others, it clearly spelled out the words, ‘I must not tell lies.’ “Harry..!” Remus couldn’t stop himself from exclaiming. “What—how—when--?”

Gordon took in the words on the hand and then watched as Remus’ reaction caused Harry to cringe, this time slightly away from the wizard. “Would you rather talk about this alone with me, Harry?” he wondered.

Harry looked over and seemed to realize how he had been leaning against Remus and that the wizard's arm was still around him. He stopped just short of pushing Remus' arm off of his shoulders but did shrug uncomfortably and then nod. Remus tried to make eye contact before leaving but Harry stared uncomfortably at the floor. "Good luck," the man finally said softly before leaving and closing the door behind him softly. Gordon nodded to him as he passed and then immediately turned his attention back to his patient.

"Did someone--did an adult cut that into your hand, Harry?" Gordon asked finally. Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "I'm wondering how you got a scar in the shape of words on your hand, Harry.. I'm just a Muggle, so I don't know if there's perhaps a spell that will do that..?"

"It's not a big deal," Harry replied finally with a scowl. "Umbridge made me write lines with my own blood, to 'make an impression.'" He paused, then added defensively, "I didn't even tell a lie!"

"Usually, it's a good idea to tell an adult that you trust when another adult is hurting you, Harry.. Otherwise the adult can keep hurting you."

Harry gave another uneasy shrug. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"We should talk about this, Harry." Gordon watched the teen's tense shoulders and downturned head. "We don't need to talk about that right now, though. You never finished telling me about the book that Remus asked you to read."

Harry frowned and ducked his head even further. "I don't know what's wrong with me.. it was just a stupid book. Ron and Ginny thought it was funny," Harry replied quietly.

"Nothing is 'wrong' with you, Harry," Gordon replied with a comforting smile. Harry's head lifted enough for him to see Gordon's expression through his fringe, and he shrugged again. "You had an emotional response. It's very common for people to feel overwhelmed, especially when they have been under as much stress as you have over the past few weeks."

"But.. how can I stop it from happening again?" Harry wondered, straightening slightly at the note of hope that it seemed Gordon was holding out.

"First of all, we need to figure out what emotional response this triggered, and deal with whatever is causing those emotions.. Along with that, I can teach you ways of coping with your emotions as you are feeling them, without being overwhelmed," Gordon responded, winking at Harry when he finally looked at Gordon's face. Harry managed a weak smile in response.

"But do we have to do it right *now*?" Harry asked, a note of pleading in his voice.

"Is there a reason for waiting?" Gordon asked, his voice slightly playful.

Harry sighed. "I guess not..."

Gordon leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands as he watched Harry. "You were already responding emotionally before I even left, if I remember correctly... Almost as though the situation were bringing a particular memory to mind.."

Harry's whole body tensed and his eyes became distant and unfocused for a moment before he shivered and shook his head. "No," he vocalized immediately. "No."

Gordon held his breath for a moment before repeating, "No..?"

Harry wrapped his arms around himself lightly and rubbed his arms. "I don't want to talk about this," he replied.

"I know you don't," responded Gordon gently. "But there is nothing wrong with you, Harry, and whatever you're remembering is *not* your fault."

"You don't know that," Harry responded angrily. "You can't know that..!"

"Yes, I can," Gordon responded firmly. "Adults, especially those responsible for your care, are *never* justified in hurting you. I don't care what you have done; hurting a child is *never* acceptable."

Harry began to rub his arms again. "How do you know I was hurt..?" he asked in a slightly smaller voice, all anger gone as quickly as it had come.

"Because, Harry. I know people, and no one responds the way you did without some tr--without someone having hurt them, at some point. I still don't know what happened, though.."

"I just.. it was just.. like when the Durs--when my family p-punished me.." Harry continued to rub his arms nervously. "I don't like being in trouble," he added shortly.

"I'll need you to be a bit more specific, Harry," Gordon said almost reluctantly. "I know this is hard to talk about, but it will help you work through your emotions, I promise." The psychologist moved his chair closer and then reached out his hands. "Come on, Harry.."

Harry stared at Gordon's hands for a long moment before reaching out his own and placing them in the larger ones of the psychologist. Gordon squeezed his hands gently, and Harry felt as though he had a little more strength. It was easier to remember that he was here and not there. "When they were angry, they would scream at me.. about how worthless I was," Harry began in a small voice. Gordon nodded encouragingly and squeezed his hands again but didn't say anything to interrupt him.

"The worst was when I did magic, accidentally.. that was the only way I *could* do it, anyway. They didn't even tell me that's what it was--they would scream at me that there was no such thing as magic, and about how worthless I was and what a waste of their time and money.. And then they would throw me in my cupboard, and I would hear them locking it, and threatening me if I even tried to come out, and.." Harry trailed off, shaking slightly.

"Harry.. I need you to look at me in the eyes. Can you do that for me?"

Harry slowly managed to drag his eyes up to meet Gordon's. Then the psychologist spoke again. "You are not a waste of anyone's time or money, Harry, and you never were. And your magic? I happen to know for a *fact* that it is very special, and I am *so* proud of you for your courage and ability to deal with unusual circumstances with so much strength. Not only that, but I *know* from living in this house with you and the others that everyone feels the same way about you. You are *so* special, Harry, and that is a *good* thing." Gordon finally paused and let silence fall over the room, allowing Harry to think about his words.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "What if I don't *want* to be special..?" he whispered.

Gordon grinned. "Well, my dear Harry, I'm afraid that you have *no* choice. In fact..." Harry eyed the mischievous glint in the psychologist's eye, but waited for him to continue. "I think that you shall just have to assist me in my prank war with Tonks... after all, I'm only a poor, innocent Muggle and I stand no chance against her without your help." He winked. Harry smiled half-heartedly.

"So... what now?"

"Now, I need to know how you are feeling--right now, at this very moment," Gordon responded with another smile.

"Erm.. Just.. tired, I guess.." Harry responded wearily.

"I need to go downstairs and talk with Remus and Arthur and Molly about what may have gone wrong with the book--it's fairly apparent that it did not work as they expected. Would you like to get some rest, or come down with me to listen?"

Harry frowned in thought. "Rest.." he said finally, his muscles relaxing slightly even as he said the word. Gordon smiled, and then pulled him to his feet for a moment. The psychologist then pulled back the sheets on Harry's bed before beckoning him to sit back down on the bed. Harry wearily removed his shoes and then collapsed back on the pillow. Gordon pulled the sheets and quilt up over him and smiled again. "Rest well, Harry," he told him, and then he moved to the door and shut it quietly behind him.

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Reviews Welcomed! :-D